


mercy on me

by thirteengrins



Series: feature-length thirteen character studies [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angry Thirteen, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But also, Emotional Hurt, Emotions, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/F, Help, OC, PTSD, Set after Timeless Children, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, but it's gonna get more lighthearted I promise, identity crisis, no judoons tho, reflecting on stuff, sad thirteen, soft thirteen, thasmin, the doctor gets therapy, the doctor is stuck in rehab, therapist, thirteen is a baby and she's bottled too much up and now she's stuck in hospital without her fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 57,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteengrins/pseuds/thirteengrins
Summary: Rather than a platoon of judoon, it's a representative from an intergalactic rehabilitation centre that breaks into the TARDIS and takes the Doctor to their facility. Without her fam, the Doctor has to confront everything she didn't want to feel before. Alone, she's forced to evaluate everything she knows about herself, everything she wishes she did, and everything she knows is a lie.Basically, the Doctor reluctantly gets therapy. There will be a family reunion, gallons of character development, and... the odd kiss in the rain.Inspired by a one-shot by HalfBakedPoet.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan & Graham O'Brien & Ryan Sinclair, Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: feature-length thirteen character studies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777978
Comments: 1099
Kudos: 361





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HalfBakedPoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfBakedPoet/gifts).



> I read a fic (a one shot: 'Wish You Well' by HalfBakedPoet and W O W) in which our angel thirteen has prison therapy and it inspired this piece where, instead of being taken away with the judoon, thirteen is taken to space rehab. Let's face it, she's got loads of issues and it's about time she stopped pushing her emotions back for the sake of the fam and just... felt them, you know?
> 
> Anyway, if ya can't write something different during a lockdown, when can ya?
> 
> Beth x

“Could you state your name, just for the record?”

“If you’ve got a record, why’d you need me to state my name?”

“Does being this defensive make you feel in control?”

“Who says I need to be in control?”

“You’ve been here three hours, Doctor. We’re not the enemies here. This is just your initial assessment.”

“So you did know my name. And I never asked for an initial assessment.”

“Doctor what?”

“Just the Doctor.”

“Okay.” He scribbles something down. “I know you didn’t ask for the assessment. Someone else did. This is a court-ordered sentence, Doctor.”

“Who was it, then?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“ _When_ was it, then? Answer me that, at least?”

“I’ll start answering your questions when you start answering mine.”

Silence.

She leans back in the chair, scans her eyes over her surroundings. It’s a nice room, really. She’s been in worse. In fact, she’d probably like to stay here a little longer if it weren’t for the handcuffs chaining her to the table. Big, wide windows looking out onto green fields and a patch of woodland. Nice garden out there. Loads of birds. Feels like Earth, but it isn’t, she thinks, suddenly, with a pang of longing.

She tugs her wrists, jerks angrily against the chains that confine her. She can feel herself bruising already, can see the red welts starting to appear on her skin. The chains rattle as she thrashes, desperately, hopelessly trying to wiggle out.

“I can get them to take off the chains, if you like,” the man says, slowly, watching her with a wary curiosity.

She meets his eyes. “Why are they here in the first place? I need you to tell me — what’s your name?”

“Doctor Lora Mara.”

“Lora, why am I handcuffed to the desk? What…” She swallows. “What have I done?”

“Perhaps nothing yet, it’s difficult with time lords like you. We work in crime prevention as well as rehabilitation.” Lora leans forward slightly on the table, resting his elbows on the wooden surface and gently meeting her eyes. “Who you are, how you feel right now… It significantly impacts on your future. It creates negative… ripples, if you will. It’s important you let us help you, now, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t…” She squeezes her eyes up, scrunches up her nose in confusion. “I understand the process, I just don’t understand… Why now? If some mysterious person referred me a long time ago and it took you this long to find me, how have you managed to find me, now?”

Lora shifts away slightly, pressing his back against the chair. “We — as a centre — we have special technology that looks for certain distress signals. You were in a period of emotional turmoil, and that made you easier to find.”

“I’ve been in times like that before.”

“Not like that. Never that bad. And you’ve never been completely alone whilst you were dealing with that kind of grief.”

The Doctor shifts uncomfortably against the constraints on her wrists. When she speaks, her voice is gentler. The exhaustion is starting to set into her bones. “I think I’d like to get these off my hands, Lora.”

“Okay.” He watches her, watches her shoulders slump and her eyes avoid his gaze at all costs. “Okay, Doctor. That’s fine.”

The room they give her is nice as well. No bars at the windows, no chains on her ankles this time. When she looks out of the window, though, she could spy the forcefield glimmering slightly in the sunlight. She collapses onto the bed with a sigh. They might be trying to make this place look like paradise, but it's still, essentially, prison.

That Lora bloke has been following her around since they left the first room they were in, but she’s refused to let him give her the full tour yet. She wants time to think. Plan. Work out her escape.

Preferably, alone.

Lora is sitting in the armchair they've positioned by an old-fashioned school-desk, just opposite her bed. He watches her, carefully. She rolls her eyes, lying flat on the bed so that her eyes are trained on the ceiling. Pretty ceiling, too. Nice swirly patterns. It’s no TARDIS, though. When she was alone in the TARDIS, she’d sometimes lie and look up just to watch her glowing lights. Feel her gentle humming. Sink into her.

This is different.

“Tomorrow, we can talk properly about your goals whilst you’re here,” he says. His voice is low and soft, but not without the patronising edge the Doctor often associated with people of his profession. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice,” she spits, kicking the edge of the bed-frame. “How long’s my sentence, by the way? I didn’t ask.”

Lora sighs. “Doctor, it’s important that you listen to me and understand what I’m about to say, okay?” Lora says, firmly. The Doctor doesn’t reply, stubbornly keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. “You are not in prison, Doctor. We’re here to help you in your recovery. You were referred to us a long time ago — well, maybe not in your timeline, but for us, it’s taken a long time to find you — but we have no choice but to keep you here for the time being and help you get better.”

“How long?” she says, through gritted teeth. “I know what these places are like. What’s the minimum requirement?”

Lora sighs, straightens his blazer collar uncomfortably. “Nine weeks minimum. But I promise you, if you co-operate with us, that time will fly by.”

“Time seems to do that with me, anyway,” she said, vacantly. “Fly by.”

“You’re here for your own safety, and for the safety of others. You are legally required to stay here, Doctor, and we are legally required to keep you here.”

The Doctor feels tears sting at her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t let them fall, not in front of this man she doesn’t even know. She doesn’t even know what species he is, stripped of her sonic and the rest of the contents of her pockets. Regardless, she won’t cry in front of this stranger. Not when she hasn’t even cried in front of her own family. The fam. God, the thought of Ryan, Graham and Yaz almost made the tears fall. They’d never forgive her for doing what she did. Sacrificing herself — even if it never really happened — it was selfish. She just wanted them safe, but that meant she didn’t listen. Didn’t value their opinions. God, the look on Yaz’s face…

She takes a shuddery breath, breathes out just as shakily. She can feel the shrinks eyes on her even when hers are closed. She clears her throat.

“The fam, they don’t…” She swallows, thickly. “They don’t know where I am. They don’t know I’m alive.”

“Perhaps I could send a message for you, if you think it’ll be beneficial to your recovery.”

“No, no. Don’t do that.”

Silence falls between them.

The man says, gently, “I thought the idea of your friends not knowing you’re alive… I thought that idea made you distressed.”

“It did, it… It does.”

“So, why shouldn’t they be told that you’re alive, Doctor?”

Her voice comes out like a whisper. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

“You really think it would be better if your family think you’re dead?”

“I don’t know what I think,” the Doctor snaps, suddenly, spinning towards Lora with fire in her eyes. “I don’t know who I am. I’m so completely useless that I’m surprised I got them out of that alive. Maybe I’m better off dead.” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and feels her shoulders shiver with the effort. “To them, at least.”

The armchair creaks as Lora leans forward, rests his arms on his knees. He says, gently, “You don’t really think that, do you?”

The Doctor sighs, furiously blinks back tears. “I think I’m done for today, thanks, Lora.”

“Doctor, I feel like we need to talk about this more, I…”

“I’m done for today, Lora.” Her voice is like venom, all traces of politeness gone.

“Right,” Lora says, resigned. He stands up from the chair, straightens his shirt absent-mindedly, pauses before he steps through the doorway. “My door is always open, Doctor. I’ll see you same time tomorrow.”

“Well, you know where to find me,” she says, bitterly, her voice muffled behind her palms. “I’ll be here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has her first proper therapy session. She finds out who's responsible for her inpatient admission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your kindness on chapter one. I'll be updating this regularly (hey -- thanks to lockdown, I've more than enough time on my hands).
> 
> Keep reading and keep recommending me thasmin fics and angsty thirteen stuff I'm literally living for it.
> 
> Beth x

The rest of the day, she sleeps. The next morning passes almost without her noticing. She lies in the same position, lying back, facing the ceiling, until the noises of patients singing in one of the rooms down the hall drags her into consciousness.What would Yaz do if she were here? Ugh, no, Doctor, don’t do that. That’s a slippery slope. If we start to think about what Yaz would do, we start to think about Yaz, and if we start to think about Yaz, we start to miss Yaz, and when…

She takes a deep, steadying, breath.

Alright, we have to calm down. Steady on, now. We’ll get Yaz back, eventually. Maybe. Or maybe she wouldn’t want you back. Maybe she’s moved on by now.

She takes another deep breath, feeling more anxious with every exhale. She remembered Yaz’s face the last time they saw each other; remembered her hand clasped around her arm, dragging her back to them.

_I won’t let you do this._

_Get off me, Yaz!_

She remembers Graham’s soft, silent understanding.

Ryan’s blatant disappointment in her as he told Yaz, “Let her go.”

The Doctor pushes herself up on the bed, sweeps the curtain of hair away from her face. She was alone now, at least, so that was something to be thankful for. With a sigh, she swings her legs round the side of the bed and forces herself to stand, drags her weary body to the window.

There were a few people dotted around on the lawn — most of them in white clothes and accompanied by people who look more like doctors. Or psychologists, like Lora. They’ve left her own stunning white pyjama set on the desk, but she barely looks at it. It’d be the opposite of everything she stood for, that — wearing the plainest stuff to fit in with everyone else.

Imagine if the fam arrive and she’s wearing _that_? They’d disown her on the spot. Ryan wouldn’t know what to do with himself, he’d be laughing so hard…

She swipes quickly at her damp cheek. Doesn’t matter now, of course. Not a chance in hell those lot would be able to make it out here.

“Doctor,” he says from the doorway. _Him._ Lora. In any other world, she’d like the man. He seems nice enough and, hey, she likes people in general, _especially_ people who commit their lives to helping other people. But here, now… He was an added stress she didn’t need. “Why don’t you walk with me? I thought we could sit in the garden for a while.”

“The garden,” she repeats, but her voice is croaky and unused. She tries again, “Can’t we do the session here? My legs aren’t feeling all that up to walking.” She shakes one, limply, for dramatic effect. “See? I really don’t feel like a field trip.”

“I don’t think going outside counts as a field trip just yet.” He holds the door open, expectedly. “It’s less than a minute’s walk. The fresh air will do you good.”

“My Granny used to say that,” she grumbles, miserably, leaving the window to sulk through the door. “I thought it _does_ count as a field trip as long as it’s near a field…?”

“From what we were told about you, we expected you to be tunnelling out of here with spoons by now,” Lora says, with a smile. The Doctor huffs, slumping back further onto the park bench like a stubborn child. “But, strangely enough, I haven’t had to alert our security staff at all since you arrived. Actually, I’ve had to tell them to stand down.”

She snorts. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no, not at all.”

The two sit together, the Doctor hunching with her arms crossed sulkily, and Lora with better posture, sitting up straight-backed with his notebook balancing on the arm of the bench. He hasn’t picked it up yet; hasn’t felt the need to start scribbling things down.

Though, the Doctor wonders, maybe he just writes everything down afterwards. Maybe the notebook is just for show, to make him look more professional than he feels.

“How long have you been doing this, Lora?”

Lora turns his head, watches her as she avoids eye contact and lets her gaze wander to the trees, the birds, the world she’s so desperately trying to decode. “How about we make a deal? One question each; we take it in turns.”

She turns to meet his eyes, the briefest of flashes. “Yeah, alright.”

“I’ve been doing this just over a century. How are you feeling today, on a scale of one to ten?”

She pauses for a moment, squeezes her lips together in thought. “A solid three. Why does this place look so human to me? We’re not on Earth.”

“Perception filter. The facility looks different to every one of our patients. The surroundings adapt to whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” Lora takes a moment to look around, taking in the trees and serene birdsong. “This is, apparently, the environment that best suits you.” He smiles, softly, but she doesn’t return it. “You spoke about your family yesterday. Tell me more about them.”

The Doctor’s eyes stay fixed on the greenery in front of them, but she straightens slightly on the bench, sits up a little bit. “They’re not… biological family, but they’re as good as. Better, actually. Family was never really my thing. These guys are different. Ryan, Graham and Yaz.” Yaz’s name gets caught in her throat somehow. She sits up even straighter, pushes her back against the wood of the bench. “Some of the best people I know.”

He opens the notebook now, writes down their names slowly in scrawly handwriting. She tries not to watch what he’s writing but, hey, there’s only so much she can pretend she can’t see, and he doesn’t really try to hide it. Her heart lurches seeing their named scrawled down like that; black ink against blank white paper. Permanent.

“It’s your turn,” he prompts, gently. “You can ask me something, now.”

“Oh.” The Doctor fiddles with the hem of her coat. “What do I have to do? Here, I mean. I don’t know what kind of life you think I’ve lead but I’ve… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Oh, it’s pretty simple,” he says, quietly, as another doctor passes, nodding kindly to him as he does. “You follow the rules. Participate in therapy. Play an active roll in your recovery. Maybe even make some friends, if you feel like it.”

She shoots him a look. “Friends?”

“Alright, maybe that’s a step too far right now. But there are nice people here, Doctor. Kind people. How would you feel about wearing the outfit we’ve set out for you? We find that everyone wearing the same thing is kind of an equaliser.”

“Terrible. I like my own clothes. And pockets. Who admitted me here?”

There’s a pause. Lora shifts to face her slightly. She does the same, determinedly meeting his eyes for the first time in a while. She holds the eye contact while he opens his mouth and closes it again.

“If I answer this one, will you wear the clothes?”

The Doctor takes a moment to weigh this one up. A small price to pay. “Fine, yeah, brilliant. I’ll wear your PJ’s. Who admitted me?”

“Professor River Song.”

Her heart drops to her feet. Even the bird seem to stumble in their song. Everything feels like it jerks for moment, a stuttering, shuddering moment in time when the entire fabric of the world freezes. Stops. Then immediately chants in unison, more like prayer than a name:

_River. River. River._

“When?” she manages to say.

She barely notices him monitoring her reaction, only just registers his scribbles writing on the balanced notebook.

“Your timeline is hard for us to understand,” he says, with a firm yet gentle honesty. “Before now, but after other things. Something is going to happen — in some timeline, it already has — and Professor Song, she said she needed you admitted here. She went through the courts.” He rests a hand on her arm and her eyes snap up to his. His hand squeezes, comforting. “How are you feeling now, Doctor?”

Her heart is pounding. She gasps, desperate for one breath of normality, for just _one stupid thing_ to feel like it used to and not like she’s walking on eggshells _all the time._ Turns out, she has no idea who she is and — on top of that — she has no idea who _River_ is, either.

“Are we still playing the game?” She says, eyes burning with tears.

“No, Doctor.” He takes his hand back, rests it awkwardly on his knee. “We don’t have to keep playing the game.”

“Then…” She swallows, thickly; pushes herself to her feet. Her whole body sways, and she leans against the park bench for a moment before straightening out. “I don’t have to answer that. I’m going to go back — to my room, maybe. Or… no. I’ll go for a walk — over there.”

The Doctor sets off, with more of a stride than a walk, towards the garden path that twists towards a handful of trees. Maybe they were following, maybe they weren’t — who cares anymore? The only thing she cares about now is the name drumming in her head, again and again like two heartbeats.

_River. River._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor's first group therapy, and maybe her first ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I used to go to a group therapy a couple years ago, and the other girls and I always had loads of fun with our group leaders 'weather / emotions comparison' thing, so I thought I'd integrate it.
> 
> I did loads of timeline thinking last night -- thank you to AnonManon for sparking tons of River ideas...

_So, River is the reason._ She’s the reason the fam still think she’s dead — something the Doctor is still somewhat back and forth about — she’s the reason the Doctor has to eat proper breakfast every day (not exclusively custard creams — who knew?), _and_ she’s the reason the Doctor is currently sitting in a circle of chairs with four other patients wearing _white pyjamas._

She knows River, though, she’s sure of it. Maybe not in this body, not yet, but their souls know each other, so what do bodies matter anyway? And if River did _this_ — if River put her in this situation — well, there had to be a good reason for it.

Maybe it's all just a cover-up. Maybe River just needs her to stay here to stop something happening further in the timeline. If the Doctor was certain of one thing, it was that she trusted River. For the most part. She _was_ her wife, after all.

Lora clears his throat, drawing the attention of all five of them. “Right, everyone. I suppose it’s time we get started.”

The Doctor has no idea how people do this; sit still and listen quietly. She finds it hard to listen quietly when she’s interested in things — let alone when she’s somewhere she doesn’t want to be, forced to think about things she doesn’t want to think about.

Her fingers drum against the soft white cotton. God, she wishes she could have her coat right now. These paper thin trousers have no pockets. What’s she supposed to do with her hands now?

“We’ll start how we usually do, with our weather analogies.” Lora seems proud of his weather analogies, and the Doctor fights the urge to chuckle a little as he starts everyone off with: “Today, I’m a warm summer breeze.”

They go around the circle, taking it in turns. If the Doctor’s grateful of one thing, it’s that they start with the weather analogies and not _I’m the Doctor, and I’m an addict._ She’s not sure she could cope with that, right now. She’s barely coping as it is.

Ash describes himself today as, “A little bit of rain, but the type that gets heavy then light again because the wind is so strong…”

Ash takes the weather analogies more seriously than the rest of them.

Annie, next to the Doctor, shrugs and says, “It’s humid. Sunny but with a storm hanging in the air, you know?”

The Doctor likes Annie. Annie has long, wild hair and wears bright lipstick every day as a statement against the white PJ’s. If the Doctor was more of a lipstick-wearing person, she’s sure she’d do the same. Annie is no-nonsense and talkative. She certainly seems to talk the most out of everyone in Circle Time, which gives the Doctor the break she needs from constantly chatting one-on-one with Lora.

Annie has finished talking.

All eyes are on the Doctor… but she doesn’t know yet.

 _The oncoming storm._ That’s what people used to call her, isn’t it? That’s the person she used to be, only now… Now, she doesn’t know who she is. She doesn’t feel like an oncoming storm, more like…

“Drizzle,” she manages, not meeting Lora’s eyes. “Just… rain."

Lora catches her on the way out of Circle Time; in the open doorway after everyone else has poured out to the recreation room.

“Participating in therapy was part of the deal,” he says, quietly, notebook pressed like a secret against his chest. She saw him writing in it whilst everyone else was talking.

Should have known he was writing about her.

“I know,” the Doctor says, shuffling uncomfortably. “I’m here, aren’t I? I came, I sat down, I listened. From what I know about this kind of stuff, there’s usually tea and biscuits and stuff at the back.” She narrows her eyes, accusingly. “I didn’t see _any_ biscuits, Lora.”

Lora runs a hand tiredly through his short grey hair. “It’s not just about listening, though, is it? You need to share things, too; that’s how group therapy works. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

“I’ve too many problems, Lora.”

“So share them. Let us help.”

“You can’t help,” she spits, suddenly, feeling anger rise up in her throat. “Neither can these people. I’ve seen _too much,_ I know _too much —_ half the time it’s hard enough to even verbalise one problem, it’s…” She huffs a sigh, shakes her head. “It’s unnecessary. I’m fine.”

“River Song doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Fuck River.”

“For admitting you? Or for not telling you about it?”

Tears sting at her eyes. “Neither. Both. All of the above.”

Lora’s voice softens. The other patients are long gone, and he ushers the Doctor back inside the room, closes the door with a gentle click behind them. She collapses onto one of the chairs, swipes angrily at her cheeks — damp again, _god,_ she thinks, _can’t I just stop crying for one second…_

“You are not fine,” Lora says, kneeling to her level like she’s a small child with a scrape on her knee. “You need help, and you need to let me help you.”

“But I don’t know why she…” The Doctor feels her voice wobble, feels the tears start to blur her vision a little more. “I don’t know _when_ she…”

Lora rests a hand on her knee, and she squeezes her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to stop the tears from falling.

“Does it matter?” he says, gently. “I know your timeline is more complicated than most, Doctor. But whether something happened in your past or will happen in your future, River Song was adamant you needed to be here. For nine weeks, minimum.”

 _It could just be a trick,_ she thinks again, weakly, _she could just be keeping me safe. Maybe I don’t need to be here, maybe this is just part of some stupid River plan…_

“Do you trust her?” Lora says.

“Yeah.” Unfailingly.

“Then I need you to try, Doctor.” Lora straightens up again, clears his throat. “You don’t have to feel like such a burden all the time.” He opens the door, pauses in the doorway.The voices of patients in the hallway are so loud against the quiet room that they make her flinch. Lora nods, understanding. “I’ll leave you to have a minute, okay? A breather. Everything will be okay.”

She walks back to her room the outside way; across the stretch of garden rather than through the too-white halls. It’s not that they’re too loud, the hallways, because for the most part, the centre is pretty quiet. It’s more that they’re just too… clinical. Like, kind of what she imagines A&E to be like.

And she never goes anywhere that’s just initials.

There are a few other patients and staff wandering the grounds. It's a big patch of green with benches and the odd fountain and loads of trees and plants. Lora was right when he said this was somewhere she felt most comfortable. It all felt very... human. If it wasn't for the odd shimmer of the forcefield behind the trees, she might actually start to believe she's on Earth.

“Hey.” Footsteps behind her, padding at a light run over the soft grass. “Hey, Doc.”

 _Doc._ Her heart leaps. There’s only one person that calls her that; only one sixty-something-year-old human bloke that nickname could leave the mouth of…

“Doc.” Annie puts her arm on the Doctor’s shoulder, panting to catch her breath. “Sorry. Ran to catch up with you. Not so good at running.”

_Of course it isn’t Graham._

_I’m losing my mind._

“Hi, sorry. Didn’t see you. Or, hear you.” She pauses, awkwardly waiting for Annie to release her shoulder and catch her breath. When she does, the Doctor says, “Are you walking this way?”

“What? Sure, yeah. Let’s go for a walk around the garden,” Annie replies, breathless. "Lovely."

They fall into step together.

“You don’t talk much in Circle Time,” Annie remarks, watching the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t talk much at all, really, which is weird because you _seem_ like someone who talks a lot. Do you know what I mean?” Upon the Doctor’s silence, she adds, “I mean, you’re like someone _super_ talkative stuck in the body of a mute. Is that why you’re here?” She narrows her eyes suddenly, making the Doctor flinch. “Are you having some weird trauma response and you’ve lost your voice?”

“I still talk.”

“Not really. Not about anything that matters.”

“Look, I just want to be left alone.”

Annie grabs her arm, spins the Doctor to face her. She lowers her voice, wary of the doctor’s loitering by the doors of the centre, just out of earshot. “Doctor, I know you don’t want to be here. _I_ don’t want to be here, either.” She gestures wildly to the handful of patients wandering the lawn in twos and threes. “You know, half of these nutcases admitted _themselves_ here. That’s how you know you’re _properly_ crazy.”

“What’s your point?” the Doctor says, tiredly. She likes Annie, but that doesn’t mean she’s not exhausted. There’s been far too much talking for her liking _already_ today. “I don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be here. But we are.”

“But we don’t _have_ to be.” Annie’s eyes sparkle as she leans even closer, her voice now barely a whisper. “I’ve been here three months, Doctor. I’ve been planning this for a while. I have allies — patients _and_ staff. Plus,” she pauses to flash her a wink, “this isn’t my first break-out. You have a ship — they’re holding it in PP on the other side of campus.”

“PP?”

“Personal Possessions. You have the ship, and I have the means to get us there.” Annie’s grip on the Doctor’s arm tightened in excitement. “What do you say? It’s Wednesday now — we leave on Friday, when the nurses change shift.” She meets the Doctor’s eyes with a firm determination. “Are you in?”

The Doctor pauses, watching Annie’s face wearily. This _is a rehab clinic,_ she reminds herself, cautiously. Loads of the patients here have addictive personalities, self-destructive tendencies… Loads of the patients here are _just like her,_ and she _definitely_ wouldn’t trust herself. Doesn’t, in fact. Maybe it _isn’t_ a good idea to trust someone she met five minutes ago.

But, on the other hand… If River sent her here, then maybe River’s more ‘in the know’ that she originally thought. Maybe River _sent_ this girl to help her get out.

Missing that window is a chance she just can’t take.

“Alright,” she says, and her voice is more confident than she feels. “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of Annie? 
> 
> And, don't worry. We're bringing the fam to rehab soon. Family therapy is *totally* a big part of thirteen's recovery...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You told me,” he says, quietly, “that you left your family on a suicide mission.”
> 
> “To save them.” She says it slowly; needs him to hear every syllable. “To save them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No escape mission in this one -- I just needed to get these thoughts out of the way first. But Annie and the Doctor have big plans to get out of there; sooner rather than later.
> 
> For now, it's the Doctor and Lora, and it's time for her to face some hard truths.

One week down, eight to go.

It feels like she’s been here so much longer than that.

The Doctor has fallen into the routine of the place. It’s easier now she feels like she has a purpose: to find a way out of there. It’s always made things easier for her, that; as soon as there’s a bit of excitement, a bit of rule-breaking-for-the-greater-good… That’s when it’s easier to play the role they need her to. She’s a double agent, now. On a mission.

There was failed break-out attempt by another patient the day after the Doctor and Annie made their agreement. Security was upped, reprimands were issued. The two of them decided to wait a while for things to calm down before they put their own plan into action.

It isn’t even much of a plan, really. The Doctor relies solely on Annie to get her to the TARDIS: she’s been here the longest, knows the twisted hallways better than the Doctor does.

So, for the time being, as the Doctor enters her second week in the facility, she’s playing by the rules.

Breakfast is eight until nine, and everything has to be eaten. Lora’s started bribing her with custard creams during their sessions, which is actually working pretty well for him. She admires the ingenuity on his part.

Circle Time is twice a day; once in the morning, once just after dinner. Lunch is at noon, evening meal at six. The kitchen’s open all day, though — for snacks and cups of tea. The nurses who work in the kitchen even let her have tea with six sugars, just the way she likes it, so that’s something.

She’s allowed outside whenever she wants, so she’s taken to spending most of the day in the garden. Even after dinner, she creeps out again to sit alone on the bench and watch the sun set. She watches each star light up the sky one-by-one, feels the moonlight on her face like it’s the first time. It always feels like the first time.

She likes to pretend she’s on Earth.

Sheffield, maybe.

She likes to pretend she’s just had tea at Yaz’s. Maybe Ryan and Graham were there, too. Maybe they all went outside afterwards to sit on the grass by the TARDIS.

Sometimes she looks at the stars so long that it makes her sick with longing.

Someone usually bring her back inside, round about then.

“You’re settling in well,” Lora says, kindly, as the two of them sit together on the Doctor’s favourite bench. It's their afternoon session; often a little more relaxed than the morning ones. “Seems like you’re starting to open up a little more. Do you feel like the routines we have here are helping your recovery?”

The Doctor swallows her current mouthful of custard cream, dusting crumbs from her white pyjamas. Without either one of them saying it, they seemed to have carried on their tradition of asking each other questions in turn. Lora guessed it made the Doctor feel a little more comfortable — a little more in control.

The Doctor just thought it was more fun than being interrogated.

“I like the routine,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “The structure makes it easier, I suppose. Though, I have to be honest, I still don’t know what you think I should be recovering _from_.” She takes another bite of biscuit and says, through the mouthful of crumbs, “What _am_ I supposed to be recovering from?”

Lora smiles, but it’s almost sad. “Do you think you have perfect mental health, Doctor?”

The Doctor grimaces. “No, Lora, I don’t.”

“Nobody does, but your mental health is particularly bad because of the things you’re bottling up.” He thinks she doesn’t notice him glancing at his notebook. “You carry a lot of things with you. You’ve been alive a long time, yet you don’t feel like you know who you are.”

The Doctor says nothing. She reaches for another custard cream, but Lora reaches out to stop her, his kind eyes saying, _the biscuits are rewards for talking._

She sighs.

“So, I’m recovering from… an identity crisis?”

“You’re using humour as a defence mechanism, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Sorry, sorry. I know.”

Lora shrugs slightly. “That’s okay. You’re dealing with a lot right now. You’re grieving, and you’re still trying to figure out who you are, and you miss your family.”

The Doctor clears her throat, nervously. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Mine.” He meets her eyes, knowingly. “Are you still feeling suicidal?”

_Suicidal._ The word makes her feel sick. It snakes in through her ears and rests at the pit of her stomach, waiting to eat her from the inside out.

“I… I don’t…” Her voice stutters. She can’t meet his eyes. Can’t admit that.

Won’t.

When Lora speaks, his voice is so soft, so forgiving, that it makes her angry. Because she doesn’t deserve that. Not after everything that’s happened. Everything she’s done.

“You told me,” he says, quietly, “that you left your family on a suicide mission.”

“To _save them._ ” She says it slowly; needs him to hear every syllable. “To save them.”

“Did you weigh it up? Every option?” Lora leans forwards, forearms pressed to his knees as he begs her to hear him. “Why does it always have to be you that sacrifices yourself?” When she doesn’t reply, just opens and closes her mouth uselessly, he says, “Not just for your friends. For humanity. For world’s you barely know. You think you have to save everyone — and if that means sacrificing yourself, that’s… Your life seems like something you’re awfully willing to give up.”

“That doesn’t make me…” _Suicidal._ She swallows. “Don’t you think if I wanted to kill myself I’d have done it by now? I’ve plenty of time. Nothing but time.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it? Not once, in all the years you’ve been feeling like this?”

“You’re not playing the game — it’s my turn.”

“There’s a reason you don’t like to travel alone, isn’t there, Doctor? There’s a reason you pick up humans — one of the kindest races, the most empathetic, and also one of the most understanding.”

“Stop it, Lora.”

"You want to die, but you don't want to be responsible for it—"

“I don’t want to _die_ , for Gods sake, I just don’t want to _live!”_

She’s breathing heavily. Standing up now, towering over Lora aggressively though she’d barely registered herself moving. There’s a dampness on her neck, seeping into the collar of her _stupid white pyjamas_ but she hadn’t noticed she was crying, doesn’t feel it properly.

Doesn’t feel anything properly, anymore.

Lora stands so that they’re eye to eye. His eyes are sad, his lips are drawn tight, pressed together in thought. Eventually, he says, “You asked me what you were recovering from, Doctor. It’s this.”

She can feel herself frowning, but she can’t connect with it. She can’t make herself understand this emotion — of _all_ the things in this universe she knows and understands, why can’t her own _brain_ be a part of that? She knows he’s right but she doesn’t _want_ to know that.

The Doctor collapses back onto the bench, feels Lora’s brief hand on her shoulder and then hears him walking away, back towards the main building.

She wonders, for a second, whether he’ll be typing up his notes, putting all of this in her file.

She wonders, for a second, whether this might impact how long she has to stay in this place.

She wonders, for a second, why the hell she still cares at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so ??? I dunno. I wanted thirteen angst, I'm sorry, I promise it won't all be this dark. Things will pick up for our baby soon, I swear.
> 
> Custard creams as a bribing technique, though? Who's passing that one onto their therapist?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a panic attack. Lora pitches the idea of family therapy.

“Let’s try this again. Five things you can see.”

It takes everything she has just to open her eyes. The colossal effort it takes to do anything these days _terrifies_ her. She’s so used to being full of life, energy, thinking quick on her feet, being _spontaneous…_ At the moment, she’s so exhausted that she’s surprised they haven’t started spoon-feeding her.

She’s the most humiliated she’s ever felt.

“Doctor, this is a grounding technique. Look around and list five things you can see.”

“You,” she croaks. Tries to clear her voice, but when she speaks it’s no clearer. “Window, desk…” She coughs, forces herself to sit up a little more in the bed. “Blanket. Stupid pyjamas.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Lora’s lips. “Good. Thank you. Can you tell me five things you’re feeling right now?”

She exhales, rubbing a corner of the blanket between her thumb and forefinger. “Anxious. Confused.” She tries to clear her throat again, tries to ignore how much she wants to cry right now. “S—scared. Lost. I don’t know anymore, I don’t…”

“That’s fine, that’s just fine.” Lora writes something in the notebook.

“Lora, why do I feel so…”

She closes her eyes again. Everything feels heavy.

“Just a moment, Doctor, we’re almost done. Can you list me five things you _know_ to be true?”

The Doctor feels a tear leak out from under her closed eyelid. She hasn’t the energy to brush it away.

“My name is the Doctor,” she says, quietly. “I come from a planet called Gallifrey…”

_Everything you know is a lie._

“No, that’s wrong, I…” She balls her hands into fists, clutching desperately at the blanket. Her eyes open and find Lora’s eyes, pleading. “I can’t do this one, I don’t know anything, everything I know is a _lie…_ ”

_Everything you know is a lie._

“Okay,” Lora’s voice calmly cuts through her thoughts. “Doctor, lie down.”

“I don’t even know where I’m _from,_ ” she sobs. “I don’t even know how long I’ve lived, how many different versions of myself there’ve been, everything I know is a — a—”

Lora’s hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm, pressing back against her writhing body. “All that matters is who you are right now, Doctor. Do you hear me? All that matters is who you are _right now_. List it again — five things you can see. Come on, you can do it.”

“You,” she sobs, gasping for breath. “Chair, window… Lora, I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can.”

“Stupid pyjamas, blanket… I want to go home.”

“Where’s home, Doctor?”

Her body shakes with grief.

“Wherever they are,” she gasps. “Wherever they are.”

Walking feels weird. Better than sitting down, admittedly — helps her get the energy out somehow, to stop it bubbling around inside of her — but still. Walking feels weird. Like her limbs are too light and too heavy at the same time.

Lora is close to her side, his hand hovering subtly by her elbow like he’s ready to catch her if she falls. Which is nice, she supposes. It was his idea, the walk. Lora is a big fan of movement to keep one sane.

Well, he phrased it more like, _beneficial to your mental health,_ but she knows what he means.

They break free of the endless white corridors, finally, and push through the double-doors out into the garden. Quickly becoming her favourite place, the garden. She’s always been the outdoorsy type.

It’s been a day or so since her last breakdown, she thinks, but the days all blur into one here. Since the Doctor has been skipping out on Circle Time, her social interaction has been mostly limited to Lora, and the occasional nurse that comes in to check on her. She hasn’t seen many other patients for a while.

Hasn’t spoken to Annie for days.

Hope of escape is slowly fading in her eyes. Maybe Annie didn’t mean it, after all. Maybe the Doctor had just been playing into some delirious fantasy.

“Would you like to sit on the bench today?” Lora asks, nodding towards their usual spot.

She takes a moment to think about it. “Nah, let’s sit on the grass. It’ll feel like a picnic.” Lora smiles, follows her to the patch of grass she chooses, right by one of the larger fountains. So close that when the Doctor sits down, she can feel the spray of water on her bare ankles. “Well, it _would_ feel like a picnic, if we had any snacks…”

“Custard creams have to be earned around here, you know that.”

She sighs. “That I do.”

They sit in comfortable quiet. It’s Lora that breaks the silence.

“Can we talk about yesterday?”

 _Ah, so it_ was _yesterday._

She swallows. “Sure.”

“You said that home is wherever they are,” he says, his voice low. He looks up at the sky as he speaks, like he’s just musing aloud. She likes that about him. “Did you mean your family?” He tilts his head, meets her eyes for a second. “The ‘fam’?”

She smiles at that. “Yeah. I did.”

Above her, birds sing and swoop softly to their nests.

“I’m going to pitch an idea to you,” Lora says, slowly. “And you’re going to say no.”

“How’d you know I’m going to say no?” The Doctor scrunches her face up in disgust. “That’s a bit rude.”

Lora stifles a smile. “I feel like I know you quite well at this point, Doctor. I’m confident you’ll shoot this one down — but I’d like for you to keep an open mind. Does that sound fair?”

“Fair,” she says, suddenly curious. “Shoot.”

“Something that we insist on all patients participating here is family therapy.” He pauses, scans her face for a reaction then, sensing nothing, continues: “I want you to speak to your Earth family. I want you to tell them you’re not dead.”

“No.”

“And here, I thought you _liked_ proving me wrong.”

“You’re not bringing the fam here. It’s too dangerous. It’s—”

“—Not at all what I was suggesting, actually. We don’t have the capacity to host many guests here, but we would take you out to them. A supervised visit at first, then, if that goes well, day release. If you do well on day release, I’ll consider you for overnight leave. A weekend, perhaps.”

Her head whirs with the possibilities. “I can’t, Lora, I’m sorry — the fam, they’re… They’ll have moved on. They won’t want to see me. I told you, I’m better off…” She meets his firm gaze, rephrases: “It’s better off this way.”

Lora sighs. “Put it this way, Doctor: I do not release any patient out into the big wide universe without a solid support system. If you can’t show me that you’ll be safe when you’re released from here, then it’ll just delay your discharge date.”

“I was safe before I _came_.”

“—I’m not getting into this again.” He flashes her a kind smile. The kind of smile that says, _this conversation is over, Doctor._ “Would you like me to walk you back to the recreation room?”

“No, thanks, Lora. I’ll just…” She sighs, turning her head towards the fountain. “Stay here for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” he says. Then, before he leaves, “Just think on it, okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, okay, I miss the fam. I miss writing Yaz. I also really want to let the doctor out of Lora's watchful gaze to see what chaos ensues. 
> 
> This one isn't as long as I wanted it to be, but I kinda like writing shorter chapters and updating more regularly rather than long ass chaps & not posting too often, you know? 
> 
> Anyway, maybe family therapy will happen, maybe Annie's got something up her sleeve instead... Stay tuned, new chapter up later tonight or tomorrow, depending on just how much the boredom SEEPS into my BONES.
> 
> Thanks for the love. Sending it all right back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor thinks a bit more about family therapy and has a cup of tea (because there's nothing in the world a cup of tea can't fix). Annie's back, and she's planning the Great Escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short one tonight before bed, but there'll be another chapter up tomorrow...

The words _family therapy_ are still buzzing around in the Doctor’s head as she makes her way through the recreation room to the kitchen hatch at the end. There’s always the same woman, Grace, manning the kitchen hatch. Ready and raring to make endless brews, no matter the situation. Always with a smile and a pet name. Always with genuine kindness.

Reminds her of Graham’s Grace too, a little bit.

“Hello, poppet,” she smiles, seeing the Doctor approach. “You look miles better than yesterday.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Grace.”

“Massive one — same as usual, sweetheart?”

The Doctor nods tiredly, dramatically pressing her forehead to the kitchen counter. “Six sugars — no, wait — seven today, Grace, please.”

Grace frowns at the top of the Doctor’s blonde head, but boils the kettle anyway, reaching for one of the centre’s standard white ceramic mugs. “Everything okay, poppet?”

Grace always has the radio on. In fitting with the Earth theme, it’s always human music, and today it’s playing something from her friends’ era. She’s sure she’s heard this band before; sure Yaz has played them in her car once or twice. The Doctor knows this band. In fact, she’s met them, she’s sure of it.

Still, the song is sad and beautiful and it makes her feel lonely.

It makes her miss them more.

“I have to do family therapy,” she tells Grace, her voice muffled. She tilts her head so that it’s just her chin resting on the surface, shoots Grace a sad smile. “Ma fam still think I’m dead, so I’m off to a really cracking start.”

Grace grins, slides the mug across the table and watches as the Doctor gratefully accepts. “Family’s family, sweetheart. Dead or alive, rich or poor, for better or for worse. You love ‘em, they love you back.” She raises an eyebrow. “You love ‘em, don’t you?”

The Doctor sips her tea, delicately. “More than anything.”

“They feel the same way,” says Grace. She takes a tea-towel from the cupboard behind her and starts wiping down the front counter. “Trust me on that one. Now, scram, you scallywag, before you start a queue.” She winks as the Doctor grins, backing away. “And bring that mug back later, you hear me?”

“Thanks for the tea, Grace,” she calls over her shoulder, pausing to scan the recreation room.

It wasn’t her favourite place in the centre, but maybe it would be if she was feeling a little more social. There are tons of her favourite things here; books and board games and packs of cards and pool tables. But there were also _people_. Not just people, but other patients — and, as much as she hated herself for it, being around other people in the same situation as her… Well, it made her feel _more_ crazy.

Made her resent River more, too, and she didn’t want to do that.

Not all the time.

She only spots Annie as she’s barrelling towards her, eyes wide and smile even wider. She carries an energy that would rival that of the Doctor on a _good_ day. Perhaps _that’s_ why Annie likes to spend time with her — maybe she can sense the energy bubbling under the surface of the Doctor, too.

“Doc!” Annie calls, gleefully, bouncing towards the Doctor and pulling her in for a tight hug, with blatant disregard for the cup of tea that sloshes slightly over the edge of the mug. “Come on, walk with me. Let’s go into the garden.”

The Doctor lets Annie link their arms, keeps up the pace as Annie leads them both back through the recreation room and out into the fresh air. Annie looks younger today, the Doctor notices with curiosity. Fresh faced. More awake.

Freckles scatter the girl’s nose like glitter. Her lipstick today is a purple so deep and dark, that in the natural light it almost looks black. The sunlight catches the lighter streaks in Annie’s mass of auburn curls. Out here, in the garden, she just looks like a teenager. Last time they crossed paths, the bags under her eyes made her look ten human years older, at least.

“I haven’t seen you for a while,” the Doctor says, slowly, taking a cautious sip of her tea as Annie releases her arm and collapses onto a bench, patting the space beside her expectedly. She sits, cradling the warm mug in both hands. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, they had me in solitary for a bit,” Annie says, with a shrug. Her curls bounce when her shoulders move, mesmerisingly in sync. “Got caught with contraband in my room.” She meets the Doctor’s eyes, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m out now, Doc, and we’ve got things to do.”

_Perhaps my only chance to get out of family therapy,_ the Doctor thinks, with a sigh. _Though if they know where the fam are, they might track them down anyway, tell them I’m alive_ and _I escaped from space rehab…_ She tries to picture the look on Ryan’s face with a smirk. 

Still, she can’t shake the feeling that River knows what’s going to happen. That River knows she’ll side with Annie. In that way, there’s kind of nothing to make her mind up about, after all.

“When?” she says to Annie, watching the girl purse her lips in thought. The dark purple suited her — though not as much as the cherry red from last time they’d crossed paths. How someone could suit so many different lipstick colours was baffling to the Doctor. She wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Tonight,” Annie says, eyes sparkling. “We go after the first check at eight fifteen. I’ll meet you outside your bedroom window — you know how to open the latch, right?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” she replies. “What about the forcefield?” She gestures to the horizon, by the denser bit of forest. The forcefield glitters in the sunlight. “Even with the TARDIS, we can’t get past that.”

Annie snorts with laughter. “Come on, Doc, I’ve thought of _everything_. There’s a front desk by PP — the main entrance bit — _that’s_ where we turn the forcefield off. We should have time to get into your ship and out of the boundaries before people start to notice.”

If the Doctor had something — anything — to lose, she’d steer far clear of Annie’s terribly thought through plan. As it happens, she’s got nothing to lose at all.

“Eight fifteen, bedroom window,” the Doctor repeats, standing up and finishing her tea with one swift gulp. “I’ll be ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, lovelies. Tomorrow... the Great Escape!
> 
> Stay safe, stay indoors, take care of ur mental health, DON'T try to run away from ur therapist with a girl you don't even know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor tries to make it through her last day at the centre before she leaves with Annie tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have the next chapter (maybe even the next two, who the hell knows, I am kinda on a roll here) today, Friday 10th April 2020 -- so keep checking back!
> 
> I wanted this to be the chapter where they escape, but... There was just something I had to get out first.

The Doctor finds herself counting down the hours, feeling the excitement build in her stomach with every passing minute. Just the _idea_ , the sheer idea of being back in her TARDIS again, feeling the familiar weight of her sonic in her pockets… Oh, God, _pockets._

There’s so much she misses. So much she could have back before the sun rises again in the morning.

If everything goes according to plan, of course.

She follows the routine of the day with impatient obedience. Breakfast, Circle Time, Lunch, Chat with Lora, Circle Time… In the morning alone, she manages thirteen cups of tea, six sugars in each, until Grace cuts her off.

“ _Please,_ Grace,” she whined at the kitchen hatch like a petulant child, drumming her hands on the soft wooden surface. “Caffeine doesn’t even effect me, I promise.”

Grace’s eyebrows raise all the way up to her hairline. “Caffeine may not, but you are going to have a _serious_ sugar low later, poppet. Now, scram, outta my bar. I’m cutting you off.”

After she’s made it through dinner, hastily shovelling bland meat and vegetables into her mouth, there’s only one last thing to suffer through before bed.

Her evening chat with Lora.

“You seem in high spirits this evening,” Lora says, leaning back in his armchair. The Doctor searches his voice for signs he’s suspicious. “Though Grace did say you’ve had a lot of sugar today.” She finds herself smirking. “Have you thought any more about family therapy?”

They sit together in the recreation room; the quietest corner, away from everyone else. There are only three or four patients still there; the stragglers waiting to grab an extra snack or drink before lights out. The Doctor and Lora chose armchairs by the window, overlooking the ever-darkening sky.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” she says, testing out the lie on her tongue. “But maybe, I don’t know… Maybe it _would_ be good for me.”

Lora’s eyes narrow, ever so slightly. “You seem to have changed your mind rather rapidly, Doctor. Any reason?”

She raises her hands in defeat. “Well, you’re looking at a woman with _very_ little to lose, Lora. If family therapy is the ticket to me getting out of here, I’ll take it.”

“It’s important that you know, Doctor,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t want you to forge relationships that aren’t there for the sake of an early release. This part of the programme is an opportunity for you to _heal_ relationships — rebuild that connection with your family so that they can support you in your return to normality.”

“No, I get that, I do.”

Lora hums lightly. The Doctor avoids his eyes, tucks her legs up underneath her and curls into the armchair. If she had a blanket right about now, she could definitely fall asleep here. _This place is seriously lacking in blankets._

“Why don’t you tell me your earliest childhood memory, Doctor?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of which life?”

He meets her scepticism with a firm look. “Just, the earliest you can remember.”

The Doctor shifts until she’s cross-legged, watches quietly as other patients finish up with their puzzles and head to their beds. Tonight, she’d be out of here. She may as well play the game until then.

“Playing, on Gallifrey.” Even the name of her home planet feels foreign on her lips, now. Like it doesn’t belong to her, anymore. “With the Master.”

Lora scribbles in his notebook, then says, “The Master? Old friend of yours?”

She snorts a humourless laugh. “Not anymore.”

Lora’s eyebrows lift, but he says nothing. Waits for her to make the next move. This is the game, after all.

“Will I ever get my coat back?”

Seems like a stupid thing to worry about, but she _is_ worried about it. Also, she wants to know if it’s being held in the same place as her TARDIS — whether it’ll be easy to find with Annie later or not. She’s determined not to leave this planet without it.

“Of course you will,” Lora says, his voice measured and reassuring. “We’ve kept all of your personal belongings safe, and you’ll get them back on your discharge date.”

“Right.” _No extra hints there, then._ “Thanks.”

“What emotions might you attach to that earliest memory with the Master, Doctor?”

The Master is the last person she wants to think about, right now.

She swallows. “We were troublemakers, even then. I wasn’t… happy. I was too thoughtless and too thoughtful at the same time, but I was confident in the way that kids usually are.”

“Do you think you thought too much to be happy?”

“I’m an over-analyser, shoot me.” Her eyes snap up to meet his, suddenly. “That wasn’t me telling you to _actually_ shoot me, by the way, don’t go writing that down—”

“—Doctor.” Lora raises his hands with a short laugh. “It’s fine.”

“Right.”

“Shall we start heading back?”

“…Sure.”

They walk side-by-side. Lora doesn’t like leading the way; doesn’t like there feeling like too much of huge gap between patient and doctor — particularly when his patient _is_ a doctor, he told her that on one of her first days here.

She’s starting to get used to the corridors, but their identical blank whiteness still makes them hard to follow in her mind. She’s glad she’ll have Annie with her later, even if she’s still not sure she can completely trust her.

 _All Annie has to do is get me to the TARDIS,_ she reminds herself, as her slippers pad gently over the smooth floor. _Once I’m there, I drop her off home — wherever home is — and I’m free to go._

 _Free to go where?_ The voice in the back of her head niggles.

 _Anywhere,_ she argues back. _Anywhere._

“Okay, Doctor, I’m going to leave you for tonight.” Lora hovers by the Doctor’s open bedroom door. “You’ve done well today. Thank you for reconsidering family therapy. I think it will do the world of good.”

She flashes a tight smile. “We’ll see. Night, Lora.”

“Good night, Doctor."

She meets his eyes for a little longer than she intends to, flashes him an apologetic smile as he heads off down the corridor. Lora. Could be the last time she sees him, if everything goes to plan. He’s come to mean something to her, strangely enough.

She clicks the door shut, quietly, and slumps down on her bed. The clock on the wall reads 7.45. Half an hour before they hatch their plan. She glances outside at the sky now scattered with stars, settles deeper into the blanket. Half an hour? Definitely enough time for a quick nap.

She’d miss this place, a little bit. The garden, at least. Lora.

As she drifts off, she remembers something with a sudden, urgent sadness.

She never said _thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! New chapters today (10.04.20) so check back later or click subscribeeee


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Annie make a break for it.

The gentle knocking pulls her from sleep. The Doctor pushes herself quickly from the bed, wipes the blurriness from her eyes and heads to the window. Annie’s silhouette leans sleekly against the glass.

The latch takes some jiggling, but when it comes unstuck it opens outwards towards Annie, and the Doctor slips one leg through first before promptly tumbling out.

She lands in a tangle of limbs, cursing under her breath, and pushes herself to her feet. The window clicks shut behind her. _No going back now._

“Elegant,” Annie murmurs, eyebrows raised. “Come on, we don’t have long.”

The dampness of the grass quickly seeps through the Doctor’s paper-thin slippers as she pads softly after Annie. They follow the curve of the building, ducking past every window, sticking to the shadows. Her hearts pound in her chest.

Annie flashes a grin over her shoulder.

The back entrance to the kitchen looks more like a fire escape, but it’s been left propped open slightly. The door is just so slightly ajar that the Doctor doesn’t even notice until they’re up close and Annie starts to pry it open.

“I’ve got a cleaner on my side,” she whispers to the Doctor by way of explanation, winking. “There’s a hallway that breaks off from the back of the kitchen that they use to take the rubbish out. No one ever goes down there.” She slips inside, holding the door open for the Doctor. “Leads right through to the main entrance. _Easy.”_

 _Too easy,_ the Doctor thinks, but she swallows back her concern.

Instead, she nods, follows without question. She feels sick as Annie clicks the door shut behind her, leads her through to another door and into a hallway that looks different from the rest. Less clinical; feels more like… Well, in Earth terms, more like a supermarket than a hospital.

She tries to swallow, tries to keep her breathing steady, tries to focus on the task at hand. All she can hear are her own heartbeats drumming in her ears. She barely notices her feet moving, one after another, following Annie mechanically down the long hallway.

But she’s not used to this anymore. Not used to the adrenaline. To the _risk._ A few weeks ago she was facing a cyberarmy, fighting the Master, being imprisoned and breaking out and _now…_ That person didn’t feel like her at all. That person was fearless. Reckless.

 _This_ Doctor — the version of herself that she was _right now_ — this Doctor was scared. Scared and lonely and tired. _So_ tired. Exhausted.

_How am I going to fly the TARDIS? She won’t let me, not like this._

The TARDIS was probably in league with River, anyway. She always did like the Doctor’s wife better. She’d probably refuse to take off, stubbornly stand her ground until the Doctor suffered through the remainder of her nine weeks.

 _No,_ she tells herself, firmly. _She’ll take me. She will._

“Right,” Annie whispered, reaching a single door with a tiny square window. “PP is just across from the main desk — there, can you see it?”

She points through the glass to a door exactly opposite the one they’re looking through. The Doctor has a sudden vision of Donna, miming at her through the other window. The memory warms her, a little.

“That’s the main desk — that’s where we turn off the forcefield,” Annie is explaining. The two of them are squeezed up together against the door, both of them trying to look through the tiny square window. “Opposite the desk — _there —_ that’s the main entrance doors where they bring the new arrivals.” She meets the Doctor’s eyes. “You came in through there.”

“I don’t remember,” the Doctor murmurs, squinting through the blueish light.

“I’ll head through the door into PP, you get the forcefield switched off, okay?”

“How do I do that?” she hisses, suddenly panicked. “Is there a button, or—”

Annie is already clicking the door open, scanning the room before stepping inside. “No idea — you’ll figure it out. As soon as it’s done, come straight into PP and find me.”

“ _Annie—”_

But Annie cuts across the main entrance in a handful of swift strides, slips through the door, and leaves the Doctor standing with her mouth hanging open, eyes brimming with sudden panicked tears.

 _Okay, everything’s fine,_ she tells herself, walking slowly over to the main desk and shuffling around to the staff side. _How do we calm Yaz down when she’s upset? What would we say to Yaz if she were here?_

She frowns at her own brain. _I’d say Yaz, go back to bed and stop trying to escape therapy._

There are loads of buttons on this side of the desk; it feels more like a control panel than it does a simple reception. The Doctor imagines a receptionist sitting here, checking people in and out with all these blinking lights and switches.

Just looking at the desk makes her feel dizzy.

Her hands hover by her waist, fingers tightening into fists and then releasing just as quickly. She has the overwhelming urge to just run away; away from Annie, away from this stupid escape plan, back into her bed where things were soft and simple and easy.

 _But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? s_ he scolds herself, furiously blinking away the unwanted tears. _We get out now, back to the TARDIS, back to being in control of our own life again. Back to being alone._

The tiny voice in the back of her mind whispers, _I don’t want to be alone._

Ignoring the anxiety that pulses through her veins, she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her hands above the panel of buttons. If she does it like this, maybe it’ll be muscle memory. Most control panels follow a similar kind of structure, after all, though she can’t pretend the TARDIS really follows _many_ rules. She lets her shaking fingers drift over buttons one-by-one, still keeping her eyes closed, listing off functions in her head like she does with the periodic table.

_Alarm system._

_Security call._

_Front door unlock._

The more functions she lists in her head, the calmer she feels — the more she feels the muscle memory clicking into place. There’s no telling where this specific button is, really, but she knows that a certain amount of this is intuition. It has to be.

She lets her hand drop onto on of the buttons. Opens her eyes. Takes a breath.

Pushes.

The blueish light — the power-save glow that was present throughout the main entrance — suddenly cuts out, plunging her into darkness. Proper darkness.

She clears her throat.

“Annie?” she calls, in a hoarse whisper, but she can’t hear the other girl at all. There’s no sign of movement in the PP room, nothing at all to suggest that she isn’t, completely, alone.

Until, a crackle, like the start of a phone call.

 _No_ — not a phone call. A _broadcast_.

The voice cuts through the darkness, freezes the Doctor to the spot. Her hearts stutter in her chest.

_“Hello, sweetie.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subscribe for updates -- new chapter up TODAY, 8pm GMT. Very River-centric chapter on it's way for you guys...
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments. I love how much you're all holding in there for family therapy. Guess there's no getting out of it for the Doctor now, eh? 
> 
> Big love. Stay safe, everyone! Beth ♥


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River has a message for the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer one for you guys, today. Hope you feel just as sad reading as I did writing... Misery loves company, and all that. ♡

“ _Hello, sweetie.”_

She feels sick. For a moment, she thinks she’s actually going to gag, but her body takes deep, shuddering breaths and the feeling passes. Briefly.

“No,” she says, to the empty room. “That’s not _fair_.”

Her voice shakes with anger. Her eyes are full of it; hot red tears burn at her vision. None of this is fair. River doesn’t get to do this.

She’s felt the weight of time before — felt the frustration when things get tangled up in her own personal timeline — but she’s never felt so, so… manipulated. Like she has no choice in anything she does. Like, whatever move she makes has already been anticipated.

Like she’s back there, trapped in the Master’s prison void, defenceless.

_Can’t even escape from space rehab without the wife getting involved,_ she thinks, bitterly, but she’s too angry to properly feel the humour.

Invisible speakers project River’s breathing into the room. She lets herself close her eyes for just a second, listens to that breathing. So familiar. Hearing River breathe feels like a little piece of home she’d lost.

_“Don’t you think I warned them you’d do this?”_

“Well,” the Doctor mutters, even though she knows River can’t hear her. “Now, I do.”

_“I know you’ll do anything to get out of talking about your feelings, Doctor, but we’re past that now.”_ A pause. “ _We have to be. Trust me, if there was any other way… Well, I’ve tried it already. You do trust me, don’t you?”_

The Doctor touches her cheek, feels the hot tears but doesn’t swipe them away.

“Of course I trust you,” she says, aloud, with a shaking voice. She can feel the anger dissipating. How does River do that? “Of course I do.”

“ _This is my last chance to not lose you, Doctor. I know you hate being there, and I know you hate that I’ve manipulated you, I really do. I hate that, too. I wish I’d had time to warn you, but…”_ A sigh. “ _Doesn’t it sometimes feel like time is the one thing we don’t have?”_

“Please don’t make me do this,” she whispers, tears spilling from her eyes. “I don’t want to be here, River. I don’t need to be here."

With a smile in her voice, River says, “ _You might think this is all a load of rubbish. You probably do… But I need you to try. If it doesn’t make a difference, fine, but I need you to try anyway. Give yourself this chance.”_

“I can’t do this, River.” Her lip trembles. “It’s too hard. There’s… too much to unpack. It’d take _years…”_

“ _Just do what the Doctors tell you to, okay? Try, for me. For yourself, too, Doctor, that’s important. For yourself, too.”_

Outside, torch lights flash across the empty lawn; stark whiteness against the dark of the night. They’ll be here soon. She turns frantically to look for Annie, but she’s already gone.

“Should’ve known,” she mumbles, bitterly, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are still fixed to the front desk, her ears still straining to hear River’s bated breath through the invisible speakers.

Her wife sighs, a shaky exhale.

“ _If there was one time I wished our timelines could match up, it’s now. I want to be with you more than anything right now, I hope you know that.”_ A sniff. The Doctor’s breath catches in her throat. “ _I know you want to change. I see it in your eyes, sometimes. You know that you need to take care of yourself, don’t you?”_ A wobbly laugh. “ _God, I knew you’d try to escape. I hate you.”_

“No, you don’t,” the Doctor whispers, swiping tears from her cheek.

“ _I don’t know who you’re travelling with at the moment, but I know you’re good at finding people. You’re good at finding the_ good _people. Making your own family. You’ve always been good at that. That’s why I…”_ River clears her throat. It sounds like she’s moving, slightly, and the Doctor presses the back of her hand to her mouth at the thought of River swiping away tears. _“That’s why I love you. Don’t cut them off. I know what you’re like. Trust them.”_

“I love you, too.” A broken sob escapes. She presses her hand tighter against her mouth, feeling the tears trickle onto her closed fist.

“ _Sweetie, I’ll see you at the other side. I’m sorry I had to do this. Believe me, you have no idea how sorry I am.”_

A crackle on the line, and she’s gone.

The silence is only brief. Quickly replaced with voices, with footsteps over dewy grass, rattling of the main entrance doors, jangling of keys.

Her knees give out, buckle suddenly, and she lets herself fall. Curls up against the cold, hard floor and pictures River’s face through the blur of tears.

Bed, again. It’s like she never left. A new lock on the window to replace the broken one. She’s surprised they haven’t brought back the handcuffs, if she’s honest.

She sits, cross-legged, looks down at her open palms and wonders why they don’t feel like hers anymore. She sometimes feels like this after a regeneration: like her body is not quite her body, like her mind and physical frame just don’t _fit_ somehow. At the moment, it feels like her _mind_ that isn’t quite hers anymore. She traces the outline of one hand with the other. _River hasn’t held these hands yet._

_I wonder which version of me she’s admitted here?_

Lora has been flitting in and out for the last hour. It’s the morning, now, and sunlight pours in through the window. She hasn’t slept. Lora knows that. Every time his head peered round her bedroom door throughout the night, he found her in the same position.

Cross-legged, on top of the duvet. Palms facing up.

_Does River ever get to hold these hands?_

_Not if they’re right about me,_ she reminds herself, numbly. _Not if they keep writing that word in my file. If that’s true, then River never gets to hold these hands._

Suicidal.

That’s how they’re treating her, now, at least. Like a ticking time bomb. Like someone who might combust at any moment.

The door creaks open.

_Funny,_ she thinks, _such a modern facility with such creaky doors._

She wonders if the creaky doors are for her benefit. Another thing that’s been tailor-made for her emotional comfort. She _has_ always loved a creaky door. Creaky doors have history.

Lora sits down in the armchair, shuffles it slightly to put more space between them. The wooden legs scrape against the smooth white floor.

“Did you have any breakfast?” Lora says, gently.

_Stupid question._ He can see the toast, untouched on the desk. She drank the tea they brought her, though. She never says no to tea. Reminds her too much of Yaz.

“You know I can’t trust you now, don’t you, Lora?” She won’t meet his eyes. Her voice is scratchy, raw from crying. “I can’t possibly trust you now.”

With a sigh, he says, “I warned Professor Song this would happen.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let her _do_ it. You knew what was happening — you _staged_ it—”

“Nothing was staged,” Lora says, softly. “Annie _is_ a real patient here, and she often plans elaborate escape routes. She doesn’t understand where she is, how this facility works.” He runs a hand through his hair, wearily. “Professor Song warned us that you would need very little convincing to run away, at least in these first few weeks. She thought that you developing a friendship with someone like Annie would… help us to monitor your wellbeing.”

“What could you possibly have been monitoring from that?” she snaps.

Lora meets her glare with sad eyes. “We monitored how much you still inhibit impulsivity. How likely you are to seek out high-risk situations. The volume of which you currently feel disregard for your own life.”

“That’s not fair,” she mutters, looking down again. “Don’t make this about that.”

“If it’s not about that, then what _is_ it about?” Lora’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrow slightly. “People are rarely reckless by nature, Doctor. You are here, in a hospital, with people who are trying to _help_ you. You still tried to run away from our care. Who knows whether you would have been safe to leave here? Whether you might have tried to drive your ship — whether you might have hurt someone _else_ in your pursuits—”

“—Stop it.”

“I need you to understand that your actions effect other people, too.”

“I _know_.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” She meets his eyes. “I heard River, okay? I heard what she said to me.”

Lora purses his lips together in thought, says, “And how did that make you feel? Listening to what River had to say?”

“Awful,” she whispers. Her eyes, brimming, focus on her palms. The sunlight through the window amplifies every crease in her skin, every fold, every wrinkle. They look young, these hands. Younger than she feels, anyway.

_I want River to hold these hands._

“Monday,” Lora says, firmly, catching her attention. She drags her eyes away from her hands and up to him. “You and I, we’re going to go to Earth, to see your family. I think we need to start family therapy sooner, rather than later.” Her eyes are vacant, trained on his face. He frowns. “You will have four hours, and then I will escort you back here. How do you feel about that, Doctor?”

The Doctor’s eyes fall back to her hands. Blue veins under white skin, peachy nail beds, deep creases by the base of her thumbs.

“Fine,” she says, numbly. “That’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY for all the emotions. I have loads of them (and so does the Doctor, apparently). 
> 
> NEXT TIME: We're off to Earth for family therapy. Fingers crossed someone's stocked up on custard creams...
> 
> I update *every damn day* that I'm in lockdown so please click subscribeeee for your daily dose of angst straight to your inbox.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Comments always welcome, feedback encouraged. Beth ♡


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a gentle reintroduction to planet Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I loved writing this one. I spent so long yesterday pouring over how the Doctor's first family therapy would go, and I decided it probably /wouldn't/ be super productive right away. It'd probably be something a little more tentative to start with... Probably something like this.

The Doctor and Lora sit down together, go through everything before it happens. _The only rule for today_ , he keeps reminding her, _is to show up_. She doesn't have to talk about anything -- not about how she feels, or what she's been through, nothing. All she has to do is show up, show the fam she's not dead, and deal with the reaction she gets. That's what Lora keeps assuring her, anyway.

It's the 'dealing with the reaction' bit that makes her feel sick.

He takes her through endless winding corridors and into a room she's never seen before. White, like the rest of the rooms. ( _Such an adventurous colour scheme,_ she thinks, with a smirk). The only thing in the room is an archway, but she can sense the technology without seeing it. The archway radiates energy. Energy she's familiar with.

"A teleport with no port on the other side?" she murmurs, stepping closer to the arch. "More tele than port."

"It's telepathic. You set the location once inside," Lora explains.

“Teleporting to a set location, that’s advanced technology,” the Doctor muses, circling the teleport archway with curiosity. 

“We’re privileged in the funding we receive,” Lora says, a hint of pride in his voice. “I argued this one for a long time. It just wasn’t feasible to travel by ship, not when so many of our clients here are based so far away.” He touches the archway, fondly. “We’ve come leaps and bounds with our family therapies since getting this teleport.”

“That’s nice.”

They step under the archway together. Lora reaches to gently take her wrist, looping a short silver bangle around it. “See these four red lights? There’s one for every hour. Works a bit like battery life. When the last red light starts flashing, it’ll be nearly time to go.”

“What do I do then?” she asks. “When it’s time to go?”

“You do nothing,” he replies, with a smile. “You’ll feel a similar sensation to the one you’re about to — almost a _pulling_ sensation — and then you’ll be teleported straight back here. It’s really quite simple.”

“What about you?” The bracelet is heavy around her wrist. “Will you be with me?”

“We spoke about this,” he reminds her, gently. “I’ll be on Earth, on standby, and I’ll be able to hear everything — with this.” He gestures to the bracelet. “But you’ll be on your own. I’ll only step in if I feel like you’re in immediate danger, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” she says, then clears her throat and repeats: “Yes.”

“Now, are you picturing it?”

How can she not?

It’s been all she can see since this morning, since the anxiety really started to take over.

“Remember,” Lora says, gently. “Four hours. All you have to do today is show up.”

She blinks, and she’s there.

Looking up at the block of flats. Yaz’s block of flats. Ryan and Graham live just around the corner. She knows that, but her knowledge feels all off. Last time she was here, she was happy.

 _Tea at Yaz’s,_ she remembers, fondly. _Love tea at Yaz’s._

 _But it’s different now, isn’t it?_ She doesn’t feel the same way she did last time she was here. The Doctor swallows, thickly. She doesn’t want to taint her good memories with this. Doesn’t want to return — a shell of a woman — to the people she’s disappointed.

She fixes her eyes up at the building, steadies her breath. Remembers that Lora is with her, that he can take her back with the push of a button.

That calms her a little. If it goes terribly and everyone hates her, Lora can just take her back. She’ll be sentenced to a few extra weeks and then he’ll release her, support system or no support system, because he’s bluffing.

She’s sure he’s bluffing, anyway.

_But what if he isn’t?_

What if this is it — her one chance to prove she can be a functional person for once — and she blows it? She can already feel herself panicking. She feels sick with the thought of seeing Yaz; of Yaz seeing _her._ The Doctor would watch Yaz’s face fall. She’d be so angry. So, so angry.

What’s she even supposed to _do,_ anyway? Just waltz up the stairs and knock on Yaz’s door? Have tea with Yaz’s mum? Say she’s sorry for leaving Yaz, for not caring enough about herself to let Yaz help her, for not…

The Doctor sinks to her knees on the concrete. This is too hard. She sighs. There’s too much to apologise for; there’s too much she’s done that she never should have.

“This was a stupid idea,” she mutters aloud, knowing that Lora can hear her. “I can’t even go up to her flat. I don’t even know what I’d say.”

A plastic bag rustles as it falls with a soft _thud_ to the concrete behind her. Milk leaks onto the pavement. Someone lets out a soft breath.

“Well, cockle… I suppose you could start with hello.”

Graham makes tea. The initial shock of seeing her hasn’t worn off yet. Even when he steps into the kitchen to boil the kettle, he has to keep popping his head round the doorway, checking that familiar head of hair was still leaning against the arm of his sofa. The white pyjamas were new, but he hasn’t had chance to ask about them yet. He’s kind of terrified of asking the wrong thing, of sending her running back to wherever she’s come from.

And he’s not a fan of running, not these days. His knees won’t let him.

She’s not how she was when she left, that’s for sure. The last time Graham saw her, she was fire. Even _he_ was scared of her, and he felt like he usually held it together. Last time he saw her, she was… Well, she was the Doc. Brave, boundless energy. Always full of wisdom, always knows the right thing to do. He’d blindly follow her into the unknown — has done, actually, so many times he’s lost count.

The woman on his sofa doesn’t feel like the one he knew at all.

“Here we go, love.” He carries the two mugs of tea into his living room, gives her time to prop herself up on the sofa before handing one to her. If she notices the tremor in his hand, she doesn’t mention it.

She blankly takes the tea, flashing him a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, Graham.”

He takes the armchair opposite. He’s bought a new one since she landed the TARDIS on the other. He likes this one better, anyway — not that he’d admit that. It creaks less.

“So, Doc…” He clears his throat. “We going to talk about what you’re doing here? Alive, I mean?”

She looks up from her cup of tea, meets his eyes for the first time. “I didn’t die.”

“Yeah, got that bit.” He watches her as she sips at the tea. Can’t seem to pull his gaze from her; red-rimmed eyes, hair longer than he remembers it — closer to her shoulders than her ears now, and tousled like she hasn’t brushed it in weeks. “You look different, Doc.”

“I _feel_ different, Graham.”

He lowers his voice, leans forward on his knees towards her, despite his dodgy back. “Did he do this to you, Doc? The Master? Did he… hurt you?”

She looks down at herself; these stupid pyjamas, these foreign hands… “I’ve been… in the hospital, Graham.”

His expression hardens. “I knew it, he hurt you, didn’t he?”

“Not that…” She sighs, heavily. “Not that kind of a hospital.”

“Ah.”

Her eyes have glazed over again. He’s losing her, he can tell. She’s zoning out, going somewhere else — somewhere easier, he’s sure.

She looks like _he_ looked, all those months ago. Coming back to his flat, without Grace.

He never wants to see that look in another person’s eyes again.

“Didn’t want to pop up and see Yaz, then?” He tries to make it sound casual, but they both know what he’s asking. She shakes her head, stares into her tea. “I think she’s working today, anyway, cockle. You’d have been waiting on that pavement a while.”

“Oh.”

He hums, lightly. “Where’d you leave the TARDIS, then?”

“The — oh.” She glances up. “I got a lift, actually. I only have, uh…” She holds up the wrist with the bracelet on; shows Graham the red lights. “Three and a bit hours.”

Graham doesn’t ask questions. It looks an awful lot like an electronic tag that prisoners are forced to wear when they’re out in society on release. That look in her eyes, too — that haunted look makes him think she’s been somewhere like that. Without her TARDIS, without her sonic, without the outfit she loves… It’s no wonder she doesn't seem like herself.

“I could tell the others,” he says, softly, watching her until her eyes meet his. “If you want me to. They’d be… Well, they’d just be over the moon to see you safe, Doc.”

She manages another weak smile. “I’m not very good company at the moment, Graham. In fact, I… I’m intruding — I should go.” She tries to stand but her knees have gone weak and they buckle in. Her tea sloshes over the rim and onto the white pyjamas. She bites her lip, suddenly tearful. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

He takes the mug from her, gently, sets it down on the coffee table. Shifting closer, he says, “Three and a bit hours on Earth? If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for even a second, you’re madder than you look.”

Her eyes are shining with tears. “Graham, I—”

“You don’t have to talk.” He keeps his voice low, gentle. He stands up from the chair and moves to sit next to her on the sofa. They never sit this close, not usually. He knows she’s still a bit socially awkward. “We’ll just stay here. Watch some telly. I’ve hidden a packet of custard creams somewhere — Ryan kept nicking ‘em.” She smiles a little at that. “We can do absolutely nothing. But, since I’ve _just_ got you back… Well, Doc — I’d rather we did absolutely nothing, together.”

The Doctor sniffs. Swipes at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“You won’t tell them I’m here, will you?” she pleads, meeting Graham’s eyes. “The rest of the fam. Not until I’m ready, at least.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, Doc.” He bumps his knee against hers. “You know that. Now, blankets, biscuits — and you can pick us a crime drama, eh?”

“Thank you, Graham.”

He tugs a blanket from the top of the sofa and tucks it over her knees.

“When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.” He directs his speech away from her, aiming it somewhere near the TV as he leans forward to grab the remote, already flicking it on. “And when you’re ready to tell Ryan and Yaz — I’ll be right here beside you.”

The Doctor says nothing, but when Graham’s sorted the TV and leans back into the sofa, tea in hand, she pulls her legs up underneath her and settles into the fabric. After a moment, she takes the corner of the blanket between her fingers, reaches over to Graham, and tucks it over his knees, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know, it's not a thasmin reunion yet. We'll get there. But I feel like Graham sometimes get ignored when actually, he's such a warm, kind, Grandad figure -- he'd definitely take care of the Doc in her hour of need. Also, he's retired, which means he's generally available for biscuits and brews, too!
> 
> There'll be one more chapter up at 8pm (GMT) as usual, but I'll only be posting *one* chapter instead of two tomorrow because it's my birthday! Not that I've TONS of wild plans, what with the lockdown and all, but I'll likely be getting day drunk and dancing around to old High School Musical bangers or something.
> 
> Anyway -- your comments and kudos genuinely mean the world to me. I update *every damn day*, as you know, but I'm rubbish at getting the times right, so you're best off subscriiiiiibing for angst straight to your inbox.
> 
> This fic has given me Lockdown Purpose, and I love that it's keeping so many of you entertained. Stay safe, wash your hands, don't sit and watch the news all day, remember you're not alone. Beth ♡♡♡


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graham and the Doctor spend time together, the Doctor experiences some post-teleport sickness, and Lora has some words of wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's not 8pm yet -- but it's Saturday, I'm bored, and I just want to eat chocolate and veg out and write angsty shit all day, okay?
> 
> Can't tell you how thrilled I am with the response from today's earlier chapter, guys. We all love Grandad Graham, it seems, so here's a little more of him. ♡

The time passes quickly. Too quickly.

The Doctor finds it hard to use her voice. Every time she thinks of something to say — every time she musters up the _courage_ to start explaining herself — she can’t. Her hearts beat double time. Her tongue feels suddenly too big in her mouth, her hands feel clammy.

She’s not used to feeling so out of control.

Luckily, Graham’s an expect now at sensing her discomfort.

He keeps her mug topped up with tea and her plate full of custard creams. He explains the plot of _Vera,_ makes her laugh by imitating a Geordie accent, asks her if she’s okay every so often, but not too much.

He hopes he isn’t asking too much, anyway.

After the first hour, she stops panicking about what to say. She feels herself relax into Graham’s sofa — into his company — breathes in the familiar smell of him that she didn’t realise she’d missed so much.

She’s always known her sense of smell is a little different to humans. Graham, for example, smells like sitting by a wildlife pond, and Friday afternoon’s, and breathless laughter. Ryan smells like juvenile pranks and licking the seals of envelopes and fish and chips on the beach, and _Yaz —_ Yaz’s smell is…

The forth red light starts to blink on her wrist, catching her eye.

“Oh, Graham, I…”

She holds her wrist up for him to see. He reaches out to touch the flashing light, eyes flitting between the bracelet and her worried expression.

“What’s this mean, cockle?”

“Times up, I think. Or, it’s about to be.”

“Right.” He nods, tries to hide his disappointment. The last thing he wants to do is make her feel bad for leaving. “Well, it’s been lovely to have you, Doc. Truly, lovely. I’m so glad that you’re… Well, still here.”

She swallows, hard. “Graham, thank you.”

Graham frowns. “What on Earth for?”

“For not asking questions. For trusting me to tell you when I’m ready, for…” She lets her voice trail off, then clears her throat and meets his eyes with a teary smile. “For the custard creams.”

He snorts a laugh at that, but his attention quickly turns back to that flashing red light. His laughter falls short.

“You will come back, though, won’t you, Doc?” He can’t keep the anxiety from trembling through his voice, and she notices. “You don’t have to give me any warning, I mean, I’ll be here…”

The Doctor reaches out and grabs his hand, suddenly.

 _Still quite socially awkward,_ rings out in Graham’s ears, but he doesn’t pull away.

The touch of her hand closes the gap they usually put between one another. She squeezes his hand, meets his eyes.

“I will.”

“Don’t leave it six months again, though. Alright? I can’t spend every day guessing whether you’re still alive or not, Doc.”

_Six months?_

_Is that how long I’ve been gone?_

She can feel it, now, that pulling sensation.

Blinks, and she’s back.

“That’s alright, there you go. Nausea’s really common, at least the first time,” Lora assures her, resting a firm hand on her back while she heaves into a bucket. “The next time will be easier, I promise.”

“Never had any trouble with teleports before,” she moans, weakly. “And I’ve been in _loads_ of them.”

“Like you said,” he reminds her, “we use advanced technology. Side effects are normal. Don’t worry too much about it.”

She pushes herself up from the ground, away from the teleport arch, and allows Lora to slip an arm under hers for support. He leads her to a chair, helps her slump down onto it. She leans forward on her knees, breathes deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth again. Nothing smells like Graham, anymore. It’s all… clinical, again.

“I’ve been gone six months,” she groans, eyes fixed on the smooth white floor. “Did you know I’ve been gone _six months_?”

“I… yes.”

“Why would you keep that from me?” She pushes herself back, suddenly, gives herself head-rush trying to meet his eyes with a glare. “You really can’t afford to lose any more points with me, Lora. After River, you’re… You’re already walking a thin line.”

“I know,” Lora says, and he looks genuinely apologetic. She feels her anger fizzle, slightly. “I was trying to control your anxiety levels, I thought it might make you feel worse to know that your family have been without you for half an Earth year.”

“You’re right, it would’ve made me feel worse.” She stands, unsteady on her feet. “But I would’ve been prepared. If I’d seen _Yaz…”_ She swallows as another wave of nausea hits. Not teleport related, this time, she thinks. “If I’d seen her after all that time, it could have been…”

“I promise,” Lora says, softly. “If it makes you feel better — and if you’re _sure —_ you will receive nothing but the truth from me, from now on.”

“Stellar,” she murmurs, exhaling deeply as the nausea passes. “Thank you.”

They fall into silence. The Doctor sits back down, heavily. Focuses on her steady breathing.

_Six months._

“For what it’s worth,” Lora says, leaning back against the wall. “I think you did incredibly well, today.”

“Didn’t do much,” she murmurs. “Was all Graham, really.”

“He seems great,” he agrees, gently. “Exactly the kind of person you need to support you in your recovery.”

“Suppose so,” she replies, brushing him off. She doesn’t need to verbalise how much Graham means to her, not to Lora. She’s not sure she’d know how to say it, anyway, even if she tried. “I’m glad I saw him.”

“What about Yaz?” he says, softly.

She sighs. “What about her?”

“You couldn’t go up to see her.”

“She was working, anyway.”

“Doctor.”

“To be honest, I can’t even remember what number her flat was—”

“— _Doctor.”_

Her shoulders sag. “Can we go out to the garden? I think I need some fresh air.”

“In a moment.” His voice is low and measured. “Doctor, why is talking to Yaz more difficult than the rest of your family?”

“I don’t know,” she snaps. “It just _is._ She’s just…”

_Different._

Lora nods, understanding. “Maybe we should wait a day, before we try again with family therapy. What do you think?”

She nods her head, because she suddenly feels tearful and she doesn’t want to meet his eyes. Her voice is small when she says, to her slippered feet: “Do I have to see her right away?”

Lora watches her with kind eyes. “We have time, Doctor. The last thing I want is for you to rush into things that make you feel uncomfortable. If, in a couple of days, you want to go and see Yaz, that’s fine. If you just want to see Graham — that’s fine, too.” He sighs. “What matters most to me is that you have people to support you. Regardless of who those people are.”

Picturing Yaz’s face makes hot tears spring to her eyes. Imagining hearing her voice again, being able to pull her in for a hug… She’s never done that, not properly, not in this body. She’s felt more… vulnerable since her last regeneration. Less fond of being touched.

With Yaz, though, it would be different. She’s sure of it.

The one thing she’s not sure of, though, is if Yaz would really want to see her.

_Get off me, Yaz!_

Her eyes sting at the thought of it. She’d change all of that, now, if she could. But Yaz doesn’t know that. Yaz has lived the next six months of her life hearing those words over and over again in her head. Feeling the slap of rejection as the Doctor whipped her arm away. Replaying the last moment she saw the Doctor on a loop.

The Doctor knows Yaz. She knows that’s what she’ll have done — and she doesn’t have enough words inside of her to ever heal those wounds.

She sniffs, swipes her eyes with the backs of her hands.

_'You're, like, the best person I've ever met.'_

_Even now, Yaz?_ she wants to say, to the memory of Yaz she keeps in her head. _Even now?_

The Doctor stands.

“Can we go to the garden now, Lora? I think I really do need that fresh air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Okay, I threw in a little bit of Thasmin for you all, but you'll have to wait a tiny bit longer for their reunion. And don't worry -- of course I haven't forgotten about Ryan (or River, for that matter). We'll be seeing all of them soon enough...
> 
> Righto -- just the one chapter tomorrow, so hit subscribe if you haven't already and it'll ping straight across to you on Easter Sunday. Thank you for all the birthday wishes; in this time of great isolation for us all, it really does mean a lot to hop onto my laptop every day and read your wonderful words of support and encouragement.
> 
> Leave me a comment and let me know what you think about this one -- and I'll see you all tomorrow for an update! Beth ♡
> 
> P.S. What do you reckon *Yaz* smells like to the Doctor?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her visit with Graham, the Doctor is starting to open up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoy this one! Yesterday's chapters were a little heavy emotion-wise (cheers, Graham) so we've opted for some slightly lighter, softer thirteen in this one.

“I’m… a clear day,” she says, to the room. There are only five of them in Circle Time today; the four patients, and Lora. “A little cold, maybe, but blue skies, nonetheless.”

“Oh, _that’s_ a nice one,” Ash interrupts, eyes flicking from the Doctor to Lora. “I want that one.”

“This is more about your own emotions, Ash,” Lora replies. “The weather analogies are just that… Analogies. It’s not about who has the _best_ one, but more about who is being the most honest with…”

The Doctor zones out of the conversation for a moment, lets her eyes drift to the window, where birds are flitting between clusters of trees. Sparrows, she thinks, fondly — she can tell from the way they swoop.

She knew someone of that name, once.

 _I’ve been alive too long,_ she thinks, with a sudden wave of exhaustion. There’s rarely anything she sees that doesn’t remind her of _someone_. A friend, a companion, just someone she’s met along the way. She’s always grieving _someone_.

Yaz sees it in her eyes sometimes, the Doctor knows she does. But how does she begin to explain the enormity of constant grief?

Lora drags her thoughts away from Yaz, away from Sally Sparrow, back into the room: “Doctor, how about you? What do you think about when you think about home?”

 _That’s a huge question,_ she wants to say, but there are four sets of eyes all trained on her. She tucks her hands under her legs, nervously.

“Home is…” She lets her eyes drift up to the circle, for a moment. Everybody's watching her — something that, in normal circumstances, never used to bother her. Now, though, she feels herself shrinking under their stares. “Home is… about people, I think.”

Lora nods, encouraging. “Go on, Doctor.”

“Well,” she says, a little louder. “When I’m with certain people, I feel like I’m home. Even my TARDIS, she feels like my oldest mate, really. With my fam, with… all the different people I’ve loved and lost along the way… When I’m with them — _whenever_ I’m with them — I feel like I’m home.”

“What about the ones you’ve lost?” one of the other patients says, suddenly. “ _They_ can’t be your home.”

“I carry them with me,” she says, simply.

“So, in a way,” Ash says, reaching over to nudge her, gently, “you’re always home.”

Her chest tightens.

“In a way, yeah.”

Lora meets her on her way out, as usual. “I’m really pleased with how you’re getting on at the moment, Doctor.”

“Oh, Lora,” she says, lightly mocking. “Don’t start with the compliments, otherwise I start to expect them _all_ the time. It’s a real issue of mine — I need _constant_ validation — hey, maybe we can talk about that in our next chat!”

It’s been a while since her sense of humour crept into their conversations. _Those few hours with Graham must have done me the world of good_ , she thinks.

Lora laughs, holding the door open for her. “Why don’t you grab a cup of tea, and I’ll meet you in the garden for our chat in about ten minutes?”

“Brilliant.”

She surprises herself by turning on her heel and heading away from Circle Time and towards the recreation room. It wasn’t long ago that all of the hallways here felt like she was back in that hotel with the Ponds, constantly turning back onto the same corridor. Facing nightmares in every room.

These days, it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

She knows the way to the recreation room, heads straight through the tables of book-readers and guitar-players and puzzle-doers straight to the kitchen hatch, and Grace. Grace, with more kindness in her little finger than the Doctor thinks she could fit in her entire body.

“Grace—”

“Oh, don’t you even _think_ about it,” Grace calls in mock-sternness as the Doctor approaches, wagging a finger. “Rumour has it, _someone_ gets their jollies breaking into my kitchen, these days.”

The Doctor curses under her breath as she reaches the kitchen counter, slouching against it in shame. “Ugh, sorry, Grace. Forgot I hadn’t seen you since… that.”

Grace smirks. “Ah — all forgiven, sweetheart. If I was still mad at you, d’you really think I’d still be sending cups of tea to your bedroom? Not everyone gets room service, you know.”

“I know. Thanks, Grace.”

She brushes her off with a smile. “What would you like, my love?”

“You know what I’ve been thinking, Grace? I’d really like a houseplant.”

Grace raises her eyebrows with a grin. “Sweetheart, if a houseplant is going to make you feel better, I’ll make sure it happens. For now, I’m going to make your favourite.” She turns, flicks the kettle on and produces a mug, spooning in the sugar. “What d’you want a houseplant for, anyway?”

The Doctor clears her throat, suddenly shy.

“Sometimes,” she starts, drumming her fingers nervously on the counter. “Sometimes when I sit outside for a long time after dark, someone brings me back in. I feel like I’m really on Earth when I’m outside. When I’m back in my bedroom, it’s… easier to remember this is just…” She shrugs, brushing off her vulnerability. “I guess having a houseplant would be like having a little piece of the garden _inside_ with me, you know?”

Grace meets her eyes with a smile. “Anyone ever told you you’re a sweetie?”

_Hello, sweetie._

The Doctor smiles. “Loads.”

“Well, they’d be right. Here you go.” Grace slides the cup of tea across the counter, along with two custard creams, watching the Doctor’s face light up. “I’ve been told I have to ration you.”

“Sounds about right.” The Doctor flashes her a grin, scooping the biscuits and brew into her hands. “Thanks, Grace.”

“Always a pleasure, never a chore.”

Lora is waiting on their bench, sipping his own cup of tea. _Must be a staff room,_ she reckons. She wonders whether they use a different type of teabag in the staff room, whether it’s better quality stuff or whether they just have nicer mugs.

Because Lora’s mug is _definitely_ nicer.

Lora eyes her custard creams with a light smirk but doesn’t comment. “What would you like to talk about today, Doctor?”

“What, I get free rein?” she answers through a mouthful of biscuit.

“Creative control, yes. The floor, as you’d say, is yours.”

She leans back on the bench, watches crumbs scatter across her white pyjamas and gently brushes them onto the grass.

“What day is it? On Earth, I mean.”

Lora frowns. “In the context of the last time you visited?”

“Yes.”

“Then, it’s the twelfth of April. Easter Sunday, if I’m thinking of the right year.”

The Doctor smiles, lightly. Her eyes watch the blue sky with calm interest. “Easter Sunday. _Love_ Easter Sunday.” She turns to Lora. “You know they do chocolate on Easter Sunday down there? Makes no sense, really, but I suppose they kept the egg thing going…”

Lora smiles. “What do you think the fam are doing right now, Doctor?”

It’s funny when he says it. _The fam._ Maybe Ryan was right, maybe it really isn’t as cool as she thinks it is…

“Graham and Ryan’ll be doing something together. Graham likes to go for walks, he’ll have dragged Ryan with him, I imagine.” She watches scatters of white cloud drift across the blue expanse in front of her. Dreamlike. “Ryan told me once that he used throw boiled eggs from the top of a hill with his Nan on Good Friday. I wonder if they’ll have done that, this year. Funny, humans and their traditions.”

 _She_ hangs between them. The elephant in the room.

Well, garden.

The Doctor doesn’t say anything at first; daring him to mention her name first.

When he doesn’t, she heaves a sigh and says, quietly, “She’s Muslim, I don’t know whether her family will celebrate or not, but she’ll probably be with them, anyway. Her parents and Sonya and her Nani. I bet that’s what she’s doing, today.”

“If you were with Yaz, would you do the same?”

“If I were... with her?”

“Yes, if you were on Earth now, would you be spending time with Yaz and her family?”

“Oh.” She feels herself blush, hopes he doesn’t notice. “I’d like to, I suppose. Though my small talk needs work; think I embarrassed her last time I met the family.”

Lora smiles. “There’s something I’d like you to do…”

“… _And you’re going to say no._ That’s how this usually goes, right?”

“Doctor,” he scolds, with a laugh. “Would you let me finish?” She mimes zipping her lips, pockets the key. “Will you write her a letter? Yaz. Doesn’t have to be long, doesn’t have to be wordy, and no one apart from you ever has to read it.”

“What good is that?” she says, sobering. “Why write to her if she’ll never read it?”

Lora takes a sip of his tea. “Sometimes, Doctor, it’s more about the _words_ than who they might be intended for. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose so.”

He turns to her. “So, you’ll try it?”

A sigh.

“… I suppose so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will we get a bonus chapter of the letter to Yaz at some point? Probably. Maybe not right away. Why don't you switch subscribe on and wait patiently by your inbox whilst I put away a couple of bottles of wine and a few packets of custard creams? We can talk about that letter when I'm done celebrating 24 years on this planet, alright?
> 
> I *had* to bring Grace back (we love her, even if she's not Graham's) and also thought the Doctor definitely needed a houseplant in her room? Hit me up with good houseplant names, we all know she's gonna name it...
> 
> Slipped in our mate Sally Sparrow because she was great and also, like, the Doctor *is* constantly grieving for those she's lost. I've lost loved ones, and sometimes something completely random will happen and I'll think of them -- almost every day. The Doctor has lost so many people throughout her lives... I dunno, I thought it was only right to address her Big Feelings.
> 
> Happy Easter Sunday! I hope this was a little bit of light relief before we all board the Heartbreak Express again tomorrow. Thanks for the birthday wishes -- 24 feels alright, I suppose! Big love to all of you, always.♡♡♡


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alarm in the facility leaves the Doctor to confront some resurfacing feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the birthday wishes, yesterday! I had a very chill day indoors, ate LOADS of cake, sang some solo karaoke, watched Mamma Mia 2... The usual.
> 
> Back at the keyboard, now! I hope this little chapter can tide you over 'til family therapy tonight at 8pm (GMT).♡

_Dear Yaz, I wanted to write to you to…_

_To Yaz, I hope you’re doing alright. Just thought I’d write and say…_

_Yaz, I’m being forced to write a letter as part of my therapy. Just read it and…_

She scrunches up more sheets of paper and scatters them to the floor. The Doctor isn’t really the letter-writing type: unless it’s short, ominous instructions, she barely bothers writing anything down, these days. She’s always preferred to write in Gallifreyan rather than English, anyway, but at the minute she thinks it’d make her too sad.

She’s thought about pitching the idea of a WhatsApp message to Lora. A voice note, of course, she’s good at those. She could just ramble for a while in her bumbling apologetic way, and end the note with _kisses!_ and Yaz would be _so_ charmed she probably wouldn’t remember that the Doctor _literally_ abandoned her six months ago.

Alright, the voice note is a bad idea.

Lora would probably stress the importance of writing, anyway. The Doctor’s run into enough therapists in her time that she _knows_ how they feel about the therapeutic benefits of _writing stuff down_.

A sharp ringing in her ears suddenly breaks her train of thought.

Wait, no, not a _ringing_ … A kind of _wailing…_

An alarm. It’s an alarm.

Abandoning the pen and paper, she moves quickly to the window, scanning her eyes over the usually tranquil garden. Everyone flits around, panicked — patients glancing up at the sky with worry, staff raising their hands like white flags.

There’s a patient loitering near her window that she recognises.

She jiggles the latch, breaking it swiftly, and swings the glass open.

“Ash,” the Doctor calls. “ _Ash_.”

“Don’t look at me,” he calls, anxiously wringing his hands together. “I’ve no idea what’s going on.”

She wonders what Ash looks like usually — in his real form. The perception filter makes him look like a portly bloke in his mid-forties, with stubble on his chin, wide brown eyes and a river of worry lines on his forehead.

“Have you heard that alarm before?” she quizzes him, swinging her legs through the open window and climbing outside. She lands on her feet, this time, with a swell of pride. 

“Couple times,” Ash shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets.

Wait. _Pockets?_

_Absolutely typical,_ she thinks, banking this in her brain to bring up with Lora later. _The blokes have pockets, the ladies don’t. Some things never change._

She clears her throat in annoyance. “When did you hear it before, Ash?”

“I think it means there’s a security breach,” he says, fixing his eyes accusingly on the Doctor. “Probably Annie. Are you a detective or something? ‘Cos you speak like a detective.”

“Uh… Something like that.” _Not anymore._ “Never mind, Ash, I was actually just… curious.”

He frowns at her bedroom window. “You broke the window ‘cos you were curious?”

A tidal wave of… what’s this, now? Shame?

“I think I should grab Lora for a chat,” she says, weakly. The beginning of a headache niggles at her temples. “Sorry, Ash. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You’ll be in Circle Time?”

“Ah, I’ve got family therapy later,” she says, apologetic. “Tomorrow, though.”

The Doctor heads off through the garden, following its weaving path around to the recreation room entrance. She’s suddenly lost all her sense of direction, finds herself walking quicker and quicker through endless corridors looking for Lora’s office.

_Why did I do that?_

The alarm has stopped now, but that’s all it took. The ringing of one alarm sent her diving headfirst into some kind of heroic mission. It was probably just a trip in the electrics, or something — probably nothing to worry about, and yet, her brain…

_This stupid brain._

She slams through the next set of double doors and almost straight into Grace, coming up from ahead with a tray stacked full of ceramic mugs.

“Doctor, sweetheart, are you—”

“—oh, Grace, I’m—”

_Fine._ It’s on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t manage to get the word out before she heads through another set of doors, leaving Grace startled behind her.

_Is this the way it always has to be? Will my brain always be on high alert for something to happen?_ She’s picking up the pace now, skidding a little; slippers on smooth, white flooring.

‘ _When someone needs help, I never refuse.’_

But what about when they don’t _ask_ for it? Her hearts thud in her chest. She’d just broken a window — without thinking, without planning — and hauled herself out into the garden to see what was happening. A normal person would have… stepped into the corridor, maybe, checked with a member of staff. Anything other than go into Panic Mode.

Her shoulder slams into the wall as she loses her balance and sinks, breathless, to the floor. She’s not used to running, not anymore. Her hearts can’t take the adrenaline, the anxiety, so _why_ did she jump at the chance to go saving the day, after all this time?

“Doctor?”

She forces her eyes to focus on the hand on her knee, on the person crouched in front of her, on the mass of green tentacles blurred by his side, on the…

_Wait, what?_

“Oh.” Lora follows her gaze to the pot in his hands. “It’s for you. Grace said she thought it would help.”

_Ah, not tentacles._ She blinks the tears blurring her vision away and focuses on the pot as Lora passes it to her. _Leaves._

“You got me a houseplant?” Her voice is shaky, but with all the gentleness of a hopeful child. “…For me?”

Lora smiles. He doesn’t take his hand from her knee, stays crouched in that same position as nurses and staff wander past, like two people sitting on the floor is a regular occurrence. 

“Doctor,” he starts, kindly. “Would you like to explain to me why you’re sitting on the floor?”

“Ah.” She looks down like she’s just realising for the first time. “I had a bit of a panic when the alarm went off.”

“A panic…” Lora muses, “or a call to action?”

“Call to action immediately followed by panic.” She sighs, runs her fingers through the spidery mass of leaves in front of her. “I hadn’t thought about that in such a long time… What _feels_ like a long time, anyway. I’d forgotten how my body reacts — that alarm went off and it was like… like, I couldn’t help myself. I just had to _help,_ I had to…” She sniffs. “I broke your stupid window again.”

Lora shrugs with a soft smile. “Doesn’t matter to me. What matters is the realisation you’re having, Doctor.”

She frowns, looks up from the plant with misty eyes. “I’m realising something?”

He shifts around, moving from in front of her to the side, switching from his crouched position to sitting down against the wall, mirroring her. “When that alarm went off — did you think about yourself, even once?”

The Doctor swallows. “It was more… everyone else.”

“Your own safety didn’t cross your mind, did it?”

“Because other people are—”

“—They’re not more important, Doctor,” he interrupts, firmly. “They’re not. You are equally as important as everyone else. Your life is not worth _less_ than others.”

“That’s not what I…” She sighs, lets her head fall back against the wall. “What if I’m the only one who can save them?”

“You can’t take care of other people until you start to take care of yourself, do you understand? The answer to every problem cannot be you willing to sacrifice yourself, again.” He lowers his voice. “Imagine this — a glass full of water. If someone else’s glass is nearly empty, and yours is full, you can _help_ them by filling their glass with your water.”

“I’ve heard this analogy before,” she murmurs, closing her eyes.

“Well, hear it again.” His voice is stern. “If there is a fire, and everyone pours little bit of their water on the fire, it would put the fire out. If you pour your entire glass of water on the fire, it might have the same effect. But then you have nothing. No water and, at the moment, no one to help you fill your glass again. So, when the next fire comes and you have no water, what do you do?”

She turns to meet his eyes. “I throw the glass at it.”

He meets her gaze with a knowing smile. “Exactly. That’s what I’d like to teach you _not_ to do, if it’s alright by you. I’d like to find away to keep your glass in one piece."

The Doctor cradles the houseplant in her arms, buries her face in its leaves, breathes in the smell of Earth. When she speaks, her voice is muffled: “…Lora?”

"Yes, Doctor?"

"...Why do only the blokes pants have pockets?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the suggestions of an old lady houseplant name. That's absolutely going to happen. Also, for those wondering -- Lora has gifted her a spider plant. They're cute and easy to look after AND they always have loads of babies so maybe she can gift some to the fam at some point...
> 
> Family therapy tonight folks! The Doctor and Grandad Graham are reunited once more... (Just the two of them? Or will there be an *unexpected guest*??)
> 
> Sorry for being so cruel I literally have no other form of entertainment. Love you guys, click subscribe and I'll see you for an update in a few hours... ♡♡♡


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor finally gets a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one will EVER trust me with my timings if I keep posting at 5pm instead of 8pm... whoops. Guess I just keep finishing my edits earlier than I expect and then I just can't wait to share with you all! So, sorry. In the future, you'll just get one chapter in the morning (GMT) and one in the afternoon. That's as specific as I'm getting!!
> 
> Alright, folks, here we go! It warmed my little ice-cold heart to write this one...♡

“Eight hours this time,” Lora reminds her, fixing the bracelet to her wrist. “You sure you can manage that?”

After what happened this morning, she can see why he’s a little apprehensive now about letting her go. They spent a long time talking about it earlier, and she feels like Lora’s _expecting_ her to be a little shaky. Honestly, though, she feels better now.

_Maybe I just needed to get the freak-out out of my system._

“Yeah,” she says, confidently. “I think so. Graham will be home, I’m sure.”

“And if he’s not?” Lora says, gently.

She shrugs. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Got you on the other side of this, though, haven’t I?” She holds up her wrist. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Lora hums. “You remember how everything works?”

“When the last blinker starts to blink, it’s time to go.”

“You got it.” He meets her eyes. “Eight hours, Doctor. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

Blinks, and she’s there.

She thought she was thinking about the _outside_ of Graham’s house, but when she blinks, she’s standing in his living room.

“ _Jesus,”_ Graham yelps, waking abruptly from a nap and spilling the bowl of crisps that were balanced delicately on his knee.

“Sorry,” she says, sheepishly. “I’m usually quite good with teleports. Really.”

Graham’s face splits into a wide grin. “Pleasure to see you, Doc, but honestly, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” She steps closer, suddenly, panicking.

Graham makes a show of pressing his palm over his heart with a frown. “Actually, nah. I’m alright. Come on, cockle, come make yourself at home.”

Relieved, she flashes him a grin and moves to sit beside him on the sofa. He’s got the telly on, as always, _Vera_ murmuring gently in the background. She settles into the sofa fabric of the sofa, breathes in the smell of Graham’s house with a contended sigh.

“Well, I ain’t half glad you’re here, Doc,” he says. “You’ve interrupted a really boring day of napping and watching crime dramas. Retirement’s not quite the same without all of our crazy adventures.”

She scrunches her nose up in thought. “Can’t imagine it’s much fun, really. What about Ryan and Yaz?” It hurts to say her name. “Ryan still lives here, right?”

“Can’t get rid of him,” he says, with a smile. “He works Monday to Friday — the odd Saturday shift, too — but I get him in the evenings. Yaz pops over every so often.” He watches the Doctor’s face as he tells her, hoping it doesn’t fall. “Came for dinner a few nights ago, actually. We…” He pauses, like he isn’t sure whether to tell her, then says it, anyway: “We spoke about you, a little bit.”

Her hearts skip a beat. “…Me?”

Graham’s voice is soft. “She misses you, Doc. Think she’s struggling to get… back into Earth life, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

They let silence fall between them. The Doctor doesn’t know what to say. A thousand questions buzz around in her head, but she doesn’t ask them. She’s not sure she wants to know the answers.

“So…” Graham brushes away the awkwardness that fills their quiet, offering her a smile. “What’ve you been up to?”

She takes a breath, pushes Yaz from her mind, for now.

“Well,” says the Doctor, sifting through her memory of the last few days. “I got a houseplant.”

“A houseplant?” Graham snorts with laughter. The sound of it lights up the whole room. “When you said you’d been in the hospital, I assumed this wasn’t on _Earth.”_

She matches his grin. “S’not. But I wanted a houseplant, so my doctor — Lora, his name is — he got one for me. Kind of thanks to this nice lady called Grace, too — she’s lovely, Graham, just as kind as your Grace was.”

Graham’s eyes wrinkle when he smiles.

“I have to admit, Doc, I am relieved,” he says, with a contented sigh.

“Relieved?” she frowns. “Why?”

“Well, after you left, last time… I realised I didn’t know much about where you were staying, you know? I started worrying afterwards that maybe it wasn’t a _nice_ place, you know? I mean, wherever it is, I know they haven’t allowed you to have your own clothes, and that upsets me.” Despite himself, he smiles looking her up and down in her outfit. “I suppose they do make you wear those lovely pyjamas."

“With _pockets,”_ she tells him, proudly, shifting on the sofa to show him.

“That’s great, cockle,” he laughs. “Really. I’m glad you’re happy. Are… are you happy?”

He watches her as she fiddles with the hem of the shirt, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Not as happy as when we travelled together,” she says, slowly. “But I’m fine, there. I only have to stay for a few more weeks, and maybe when they let me out, I’ll be… better. But, yeah. Happy, I think.”

Graham nods, settling back against the arm of the sofa.

“Those times are kinda hard to beat, eh?” He nudges her knee, fondly. “The best of times, those were, Doc. And they will be again, you know? If you’ll have us.”

Her eyes light up. _You still want to come?_

“Do you mean that?” Her voice is like a whisper. She blinks furiously, trying not to let useless tears build behind her eyes. “Even after everything? After I left you?”

Graham shrugs, like he doesn’t even have to think about it. “Family’s family, cockle.”

_Ah._

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

“Hey, hey. What’s up?”

She scrunches her face up. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

A knowing sigh.

“Doc, you don’t have to try so hard not to feel things, you know.” He reaches out, hesitant at first, then loops his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug. 

She hasn’t done hugs, really, not in this body. She tenses at first — she can _feel_ herself tense up, like this is wrong, somehow — but Graham’s arms don’t move, he doesn’t pull away. Hesitant, she wraps her arms around his waist. Leans her head against his chest, and then, just like that, she remembers.

“Hugs are great,” she murmurs.

He shakes his head with a smile. “Such a donut, you are.”

“A donut?” She pulls away. “I love donuts.”

Graham snorts with laughter and gives her shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up. He groans, lightly, flexing his knee, then scoops their two mugs up off the table. “Righto. You’ve been here at least ten minutes and I’ve not even offered you a drink. Grab us a brew, shall I? How’s your clock looking?”

She holds up her wrist for him to see, shakes the eight flashing lights with pride. “Got ages this time.”

“Beautiful stuff. Back in a jiffy.”

_Still got the best part of eight hours,_ she thinks, with a relieved sigh. 

Funny how restricting someone’s time can make them value it more. She’s so used to having unlimited time, in a way; to being able to hop back and skip bits and choose how long she spends somewhere. Knowing she only has a limited time with Graham makes it all the more special, somehow. She doesn’t want to waste a moment of it.

“I was thinking,” Graham calls from the kitchen, over the bubbling of the boiling kettle. “I mean, we can definitely stay here all day, if you want to, but if you fancy it… Well, we can always go for a little walk.”

She swallows. _A walk. Out in the open. Anyone might see._

“But, what about—”

He pops his head out from around the kitchen doorway and says, “No, I don’t mean walking around Sheffield in broad daylight, not if you still don’t want to see the others. We can head out somewhere else. There are some nice country walks nearby, only a bus ride away.”

“Sounds nice,” she says, relieved. “Thanks, Graham.”

_Thanks for thinking about what I’d be thinking._

“Here we go, then.” He re-emerges, two cups of tea balanced between one hand and a plate of custard creams in the other. “Ooh, bloody hell.”

She reaches out to help him, laughing, before he spills any.

_God, it feels good to laugh again. Laughing is great._

“Thanks for the brew, Graham.”

“Don’t forget these.” He sinks back onto the sofa, slides the plate of custard creams onto the table between them. “Honestly, I’ve _properly_ had to hide my stash now; Ryan’s going to think I’m stockpiling otherwise.”

She sips gratefully at the tea, exactly how she likes it. “You must get some funny looks in Tesco’s.”

Graham’s laughter is interrupted by a sudden knocking on the front door.

The Doctor turns to Graham, panic in her eyes. “Who—”

“No idea, Doc, but no one knows you’re here,” he assures her. He stands up, patting her leg in the process, and makes his way to the front door. He’s almost out of the living room when they hear her voice.

“Graham? Open up. S’only me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's SOMEONE at the door... 
> 
> You'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to find out, I'm afraid. Though I reckon you've got your suspicions.
> 
> There will be *two* chapters up tomorrow, one in the morning and one in the afternoon -- times will totally depend on how quickly my fingers can type... Be sure to subscribe / bookmark / whatever you gotta do to get updates straight to your inbox.
> 
> In other news -- I've hit 20,000 words on this fic. This feels *almost* like a bit of a milestone! What should we do to celebrate?!
> 
> Lemme know in the comments. Beth ♡♡


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor spends ten minutes hidden at the top of Graham's staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter one of two for today: part two comes later this afternoon (as always, subscribe for updates!)♡
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger... you know me.♡

Graham doesn’t need to warn her, doesn’t need to spin around and tell her to hide, doesn’t need to mime at her to stay quiet — at the sound of that voice, she does it automatically. She looks pathetically around the open plan living room before shooting silently up the stairs, loitering on the landing whilst Graham hovers by the front door.

Three knocks. “Graham? Open up or I’m going to assume you’ve had a fall, old man.”

God, her voice. The Doctor peeks through the bannister at Graham as he leans back to see her. _Sorry,_ he mimes, his hand on the doorknob. _Will you be okay?_

She nods back. _Of course._

Hearts pounding, she skulks back into the upstairs hallway like a criminal as Graham swings the door open. 

“Hiya, love, sorry — drifted off watching _Vera_ again.”

“S’alright, don’t be daft! I just…” She sighs. The Doctor’s hearts stand still at that sigh. “I wanted to pop by today. I’ve had this weird feeling and, like… Ugh, I dunno. I can’t talk to Mum and Sonya about this stuff.”

Graham swings the door open wider, steps aside to let her through. “Of course, love. Come in, come in — I’ll get the kettle on.”

And then, the Doctor sees Yasmin Khan for the first time in… Well, what feels like forever. Hair tightly twisted back, unruly eyebrows, that face that radiates kindness and light. She has to grip the bannister, hold onto it with white knuckles to stop herself running down the stairs and pulling her into a hug. Now that she knows hugs are great, of course but… No. Even if she didn’t know that, she’d risk it for Yasmin Khan.

She’s still in her uniform. It’s about midday, she must still be on shift. Popping in on her lunch break?

That doesn’t _feel_ very Yasmin Khan.

_Stop it,_ she scolds herself. _You’re doing it again._

_Doing what?_ Her brain shoots back.

_Trying to save everyone, you idiot. Or, like, pouring from your empty glass, or something… Just — just stop trying to pour water you don’t have onto Yasmin Khan._

She huffs at the top of the staircase. _Think I’m getting my analogies muddled again._

_Lora,_ she thinks, frantically. _What do I do?_

She half-expects his voice to come through the bracelet, but there’s nothing. Graham and Yaz move into the living room and, despite herself, the Doctor shuffles down a few steps, nearing the corner of the staircase. If they were to come into the hallway, now, they might see her, but it sounds as though their voices are moving further away from the doorway.

“Two brews?” She hears Yaz say with a laugh.

The Doctor curses internally. _If Yaz notices that plate of custard creams..._

“Oh — yeah, I made one and fell asleep, and… well, made another. Here, let me get rid of these, you get yourself comfy.” Graham potters off to the kitchen, flicks the kettle on again and pulls fresh mugs out of the cupboard. Yaz's footsteps softly follow him. The Doctor strains her ears to hear over the sound of the boiling water. “Why you here, cockle? It’s not like you to pop by in the middle of the day. You still on shift?”

“Yeah,” Yaz sighs. “On my lunch break. I’ve just had… weird vibes, all day. I wanted to come by, I just… Yeah, sorry if it’s weird. Is it weird?”

The Doctor can almost hear the reassuring smile in Graham’s voice. “Yaz, come on, love. It’s me. What’s going on?”

The kettle clicks to a boil and the Doctor closes her eyes as she listens to the gentle sounds of Graham pottering in the kitchen. The gentle hollow clang of the teabag-tin lid, the tinkle of a stirring teaspoon.

_You don’t get sounds like these in rehab,_ she thinks, sadly, leaning her forehead against the wooden bannister. _Just human sounds. Just beautiful, domestic human sounds._

Downstairs, Yaz sighs. The Doctor imagines her leaning against the kitchen counter watching Graham spoon in her sugar — she takes one teaspoon, the Doctor remembers — arms crossed over her chest, that worried line creeping in between her eyebrows.

“I had a dream,” Yaz starts, slowly. “And — you can tell me if this is too weird, by the way, I won’t be offended.”

“Alright, love,” Graham reassures her. “Go on.”

The Doctor creeps forward, shuffles down another step. Because Yasmin Khan sounds worried, and she _hates_ when Yaz gets worried, because she’s the best of humanity, because whatever she has to worry about, the Doctor should be able to fix it.

_Stop that,_ she scolds herself again. _She’s not yours to save._

_She’s not yours._

“I had a dream last night,” Yaz says, again. “About… her. The Doctor.”

_Oh._

_Well, that’s…_

“I’ve been feeling weird about it all day, Graham. Like, I _know_ that she’s dead, but I can’t shake this feeling.” The Doctor hears a sniff, but it can’t be. Yasmin Khan cannot be crying, not about her. “It’s like, when my Great Nani died, I never saw her body or anything — she didn’t live near us so I hadn’t seen her for months. I kept thinking my parents were lying to me, you know, because there wasn’t any _proof_. Because I hadn’t seen it, so it wasn’t real.”

Graham sighs. “Oh, love.”

“Sorry,” Yaz says again. “I know it’s daft. That dream just… brought up some stuff.”

“I know what you mean,” Graham says, though he sounds unsure. “But I’m glad you came to talk to me about it. So long as we keep talking, we can deal with it together. Yeah?”

“Yeah, totally.” There’s a pause and the Doctor imagines them both there, sipping awkwardly at their tea, the weight of all she’s done hanging between them in the air. “I know it’s stupid, Graham, I do. I just… I can’t move past it. I can’t move past _her._ ”

_Oh, Yasmin Khan._

She wants to bang her head against the bannister. 

If she’d never walked into Yaz’s life, she could’ve spared her so much heartache.

_But then I never would have met her,_ she thinks, feeling tears burn at her eyes. _Then it would feel like a universe with no Yaz._

“Maybe you don’t need to move past her,” Graham says, so quietly that the Doctor holds her breath to hear. “Maybe it’s not all about moving on, y’know? I certainly wouldn’t want to move on from Grace.” He pauses. “But I can’t just live in my memories either. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Yaz says, quietly. “Thanks, Graham. I think I needed to just… say it out loud.”

“Say what out loud, cockle?”

A pause. The Doctor holds her breath.

“…I miss her.”

_Yasmin Khan, you break my heart._

“I miss her, too.”

The Doctor balls her hands into fists, feels her nails cut into the fleshy part of her palm. The tears feel hot on her cheeks. This is so much harder than what she could have anticipated. If Yaz had hated her, if she’d forgotten about her, if she’d _moved on…_ maybe this would be easier to deal with.

As it happened, Yasmin Khan missed her so much that she had _dreams_ about her.

They’re moving back into the hallway. She hadn’t noticed, she’d been too busy thinking about Yaz, thinking about Yaz thinking about _her_ … She scrambles up the stairs again, tucks herself around the corner and presses her back against the wall of the landing, breathing heavily. Feeling like she’s going cry. Internally praying that Yaz doesn’t see her, but also... begging her to turn and walk up the stairs.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” Yaz is saying, lightly. “Didn’t even finish my brew — gotta rush off though, I’m going to pop home and see Mum before my shift starts up again.”

“How is Najia?” Graham asks, politely, showing her to the door. 

“She’s alright.” They come into view in the hallway, only just. “Sick of Sonya’s whinging, but nothing new there.”

If the Doctor leans forward, she can see the top of Yaz’s head. All twisted back into that Police Officer Khan bun. 

“Thanks for stopping by, Yaz,” Graham says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “You really are welcome anytime, you know that.”

“I’m glad I have you guys,” Yaz says, quietly. “It’s nice to have part of her, at least. Her fam.”

_Her fam._

The Doctor doesn’t hear them say goodbye. She doesn’t notice Graham clicking the door shut behind her, or stepping tenderly back into the hallway. She doesn’t feel his gaze as he peers up the staircase, concern etched onto his face.

“Doc?” he calls, gently. “You’re going to have to come down, cockle — those stairs are no friend of my knees, these days.”

She shuffles into view, feeling like a child as she bumps gently down the stairs. She pauses, looks down at him, and tries not to cry.

Graham sits down on the bottom step with a sigh, tilting his head to peer up at her,

“Heard most of that, then, did you?” He says.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I broke Yaz.”

“Now, come on, stop that. You did not _break_ —”

“I broke her because I’m selfish and now she can’t live her life.”

“ _Doc,”_ Graham says, suddenly, raising his voice above hers. “Listen to me. You just heard Yaz speak. She was _just here_. At any point, did you hear her say that she hated you? Did you hear her telling me how you’d ruined her life and she was glad you were gone?”

_That might have been easier._

She shakes her head.

“Right,” he says, firmly, in full Grandad mode, now. “What _did_ you hear that young woman say?”

“She said…” The Doctor takes a deep breath. “…She misses me.”

Graham’s expression softens again. “And you miss her.”

Not a question, this time, but she nods, anyway.

“You know,” says Graham. “She _just_ left. She’s going round the corner to go home before she goes back to work.”

“Right.”

“Right,” he echoes. “I know you’re still quite socially awkward, Doc, but do you get where I’m going with this?”

She frowns. “I don’t think so.”

Graham takes a deep breath, suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you think, maybe, you ought to go after her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will she have the guts to confront Yaz in the middle of a block of flats in Sheffield, while Yaz is still in police uniform and she's wearing some rather lovely white PJs?
> 
> I mean... we'll see. Catch you in a few hours -- click what you need to to get your updates from me -- and let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments...! Your feedback and lovely messages truly mean the world. Beth ♡♡♡


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Yaz (finally) have a... conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, kids, when I tell you I need you to go and make yourself a cup of tea right now, I mean it.
> 
> Get a brew, get settled down, and let's dive into this one together.♡

She’s not used to running. Out of the habit, these days — aside from the odd escape attempt, of course. Still, she finds her feet pounding against the pavement in the vague direction of Yaz’s flat, catches sight of Yaz’s uniform just as she breaks onto the courtyard. Her run stumbles to a walk. Yaz’s back is turned.

_I can’t do this._

She runs a hand through her hair — longer and more tangled than she remembers it — and slows to a stop. 

_I shouldn’t do this._

_This is selfish._

But she leans forward on her knees to catch her breath, and says the one word on her mind. “Yaz.”

Yaz is almost at the door to the block of flats, but her name carries across the stretch of concrete between them. She spins around. Her eyes fall on the Doctor.

Her expression is blank. The Doctor straightens up and stands, breathless, waiting. Watching her for any kind of reaction. 

Eventually, Yaz starts walking towards her.

Her footsteps echo across the courtyard.

The Doctor doesn’t move. Like Yaz is a deer in her headlights, she’s suddenly afraid of sending her hurtling off, back to where she came from. She stays very still as Yaz crosses the space between them, stopping when she’s just a few paces away.

From this distance, she can see every crease in Yaz’s forehead as she furrows her eyebrows, studying the Doctor’s face intently with sparkling eyes. The Doctor fights the urge to close the rest of the space between them, standing patiently with pounding hearts, watching Yasmin Khan watch her.

_Please say something, Yaz,_ she pleads. _Say anything._

“I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”

_Oh, wonderful, logical Yasmin Khan._

The Doctor clears her throat, but her voice still comes out like a whisper. “You’re not dreaming, Yaz.”

“This is a trick.”

Her chest hurts. 

No, not chest.

_Hearts._

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re… a ghost, then? You told Graham they might exist.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She sighs, blinks tears away. “No, I’m not a ghost, Yaz.”

“This _has_ to be a trick. Where’s your coat?”

“Oh.” The Doctor looks down at her clothes. The flashing bracelet. _Seven._ “Yeah, I don’t have it anymore.”

Yaz narrows her eyes. “You _don’t have it anymore_?”

The Doctor swallows back the lump in her throat. “No.”

“Show me your sonic,” Yaz demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t…” The Doctor turns out her empty pockets to show her. “I don’t have that either. Actually, I only just got pockets today.”

She can’t muster up enough humour to smile. Her eyes are locked on Yaz’s, praying with every fibre of her being that Yaz can believe her, just for a moment, just long enough for an apology to mean something.

“You’re…” Yaz trails off. Her eyes mist over, hands hovering by her side like she wants to reach out and touch her, check she’s real.

_I’m real, Yaz,_ the Doctor promises, silently.

“You’re…” Yaz starts, again.

“…Not dead,” the Doctor finishes, lamely.

“You’re not dead,” Yaz repeats, slowly. “It’s been six months, Doctor. And _now_ you’re not dead.”

Tears burn at the Doctor’s eyes. _This was such a bad idea._

“I’m sorry, Yaz. I’m… don’t be mad, please, I…”

“I am mad,” Yaz whispers, softly. Her eyes gloss over with tears. “I’m furious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where have you _been?_ ”

The Doctor swallows, thickly. “That’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Is it? Great.” Yaz swipes at her cheeks. “I have to get back to work, now.”

“Yaz, _please—”_

“No. Don’t.” Yaz takes a step back, crushing the Doctor’s hearts under the heel of her shoe. “You’re not allowed to do that, after all this time. You’re not allowed to just… show up out of the blue and… and tell me you’re not dead, and…”

The Doctor steps tentatively toward her. “Yaz.”

“I don’t know _who you are,”_ Yaz says, with sudden ferocity. “But you have no right being here. Just… leave me alone.”

Yaz lingers for a second, her eyes seeming to search the hurt in the Doctor’s eyes, but then she turns on her heel and walks. Faster than she was walking before. Into the block of flats and around the corner and then she’s gone.

The Doctor’s knees give way and she collapses to the concrete, leans all the way forward and presses her forehead to the cool ground, squeezes her eyes shut. _Oh, Yaz._ She holds her wrist close to her lips and whispers, “I’m done, Lora. I want to come home.”

Graham finds her in the courtyard, close to where he found her originally just a few days ago. Still in his slippers, he helps her to her feet and walks her back to his house. Aside from her broken sobs, she’s quiet on the walk home. 

She thinks she hears Graham talking to her on the walk home, but she can’t find it in herself to properly pay attention, to allow her thoughts to stray anywhere away from Yaz. As soon as they’re through Graham’s front door, she collapses onto the bottom step of his staircase, throwing her head into her hands.

“Oh, Doc.” Graham feels her hurt like it’s his own. He gestures for her to shuffle up and lowers himself to sit down next to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it. Probably just took her by surprise, that’s all.”

“She didn’t believe it was me,” she whispers, hopeless. “She thought I was playing some trick on her — like I’d _do_ that.”

“She looks up to you so much, love,” Graham says, gently. “Can’t you see, she’s just doing what she thinks _you_ would’ve done.”

“I don’t understand,” the Doctor sniffs.

“If Yaz was dead—” The Doctor flinches at that. “—if you _thought_ that Yaz was dead, and then she showed up suddenly after half a year, looking like Yaz but _not_ like Yaz… You can’t tell me you’d trust her straight away, Doc.”

“You’re right.” She buries her face in her hands, feels Graham’s arm wrap firmly around her shaking shoulders. “Still hurts, though.”

“I know, cockle,” he murmurs. “Here’s an idea — how long’s left on that watch of yours?”

The Doctor swipes her eyes, clearing her throat. _Come on, pull yourself together._

She glances down at the bracelet. “Still seven hours, give or take ten minutes.”

“Righto. What about dinner tonight? I can invite Yaz round and we can do it together.” He eyes her uncertain expression, nudges her encouragingly, bumping their shoulders together. “What’s there to lose now, eh? I think we can explain it better together. Ryan finishes work at three thirty today — if we can talk to him beforehand, he’ll help us convince her.”

She shakes her head, suddenly tearful again. “Graham — if Ryan reacts… I can’t — not today, I mean, I can’t—”

He rests a hand on her knee. Squeezes, reassuringly. “I promise you, he won’t react like Yaz will, okay? He’ll be over the moon to see you again, Doc. Over the moon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, make another brew now. Endless brews. We must practice self-care in order to show Thirteen how to do it. What was it that Lora said about glasses of water? Let's fill each other up. Ahhhhhh
> 
> I think they're both feeling pretty hurt after this. BUT when you're email pings up with an update from me tomorrow morning (I'm just *assuming* you're all subscribed at this point, with *TWICE DAILY* chapters who wouldn't be), just know that you will be greeted with:
> 
> ♡A truly heartwarming Doctor / Ryan reunion  
> ♡All of the fam in the SAME ROOM for the first time in ages (can't promise that won't be tense)  
> ♡Graham cooking for his fam
> 
> I love you guys! Let me know what you think in the comments. I'll see you for more updates tomorrow (15/04). Beth ♡


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is reunited with Ryan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA did you think I had FORGOTTEN to post a chapter this morning?!? NO, jokes on you lot, I just overslept. Massively.
> 
> ... I'm sorry I'm late.

They sit out on the patio in Graham’s garden. It’s only a small garden, a little stretch of paving stones paired with a small square of grass. High fences separate them from the prying eyes of neighbours. 

Graham’s telling her about dinner — he’s stressed about what to cook for everyone — but the Doctor can barely hear him. Because they’re waiting for Ryan, out in the early spring sunshine, and he could arrive any minute. _And he might,_ she keeps warning herself, _react the same way as Yaz. We have to be prepared for that._

The front door slams shut. The Doctor flinches as the noise reverberates through the house. Suddenly sick with anxiety, she gets ready to stand up from the patio chair to greet Ryan. She couldn’t very well hug him from a chair, and she was now — she decided — a hugging kind of person.

After months of not seeing Ryan Sinclair, how else could she greet him? A _handshake?_

“Now, listen, I spoke to him earlier…” Graham warns her, as footsteps quickly approach the patio doors. “I briefly told him everything — and he’s fine — he’ll just be—”

The patio door slams open. She barely has time to stand before Ryan has barrelled into her, closing his arms around her and holding her, tight. They stand like that for some time, still, but together, in Graham’s small patch of garden. She can feel Ryan’s heart pounding against her chest; can feel her own two beating their response. His breath is hot against the top of her head as she tucks herself under his chin and lets her eyes fall shut.

The relief floods through her.

“You stupid, idiot alien,” he whispers into her hair. “God, I thought we’d lost you forever.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pulling him closer. “Really.”

“S’alright, I suppose,” he mutters, with a huff of a laugh. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

She breathes him in. She was right, Ryan _does_ smell like juvenile pranks and licking the seals of envelopes and fish and chips on the beach, but he also smells like… those sparklers people get out on Bonfire Night, and _swings_ and peanut butter smeared on sticks of celery.

He pulls her back, both hands on her shoulders, and examines her face. “You okay? Not hurt or anything?”

“Not on the outside.” She doesn't mean to say it, it just… slips out. “I mean—”

“C’mere.” She’s back in his arms, his hands firmly on her back. She feels herself relax against him. “Dunno what you’ve told Graham but I need to hear everythin’, okay?”

“Okay,” she promises. “Everything.”

_I owe you that much._

“Grandad, are you…?” Ryan frowns at Graham over the Doctor’s shoulder, still holding her tight as his Grandad swipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Oh, you’re not crying are you? Grandad _. Graham._ Stop.”

“No, ‘course I’m not.” He heaves a sniff. “I’ll make us all some tea.”

He disappears back into the house as the two of them settle themselves into the patio chairs. Ryan pulls his chair closer to hers, so close that their knees keep bumping together.

“I’m so happy to see you,” he grins. “I’ve missed you loads.”

“I’ve missed _you_ loads, too.”

“That other fella — when we were in that TARDIS — he ran out. I hoped he’d be able to save you, I just didn’t know whether… Well, I thought he didn’t manage.” His eyes are sad for a moment, then he glances up to meet hers and says, “I always kept hoping, though, Doctor.”

“Of course you did,” she says, gently. “You’re Ryan Sinclair.”

The light sounds of Graham making tea in the kitchen carry through into the garden. The birds ahead seem to sing louder than they did before. _Sparrows,_ she notices, fondly.

“I heard that Yaz wasn’t…”

The Doctor hums. “Yeah, she wasn’t too happy to see me."

“Well, _I’m_ happy to see you,” he reassures her. “I swear.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Really?”

Ryan clears his throat. “Well, don’t get me wrong, Doctor, I’m _dead_ happy to see you,over the moon — but you do look like shit.” She snorts a laugh. “You’re in serious need of a haircut and we _need_ to get your old clothes back — never thought I’d say that, by the way.” He flashes her a smile, reaching out to nudge her. “C’mon, then. Where’ve you been?”

She takes a deep breath just as Graham re-emerges with the tea, setting three mugs down on the patio table and sitting himself down opposite her. She swallows, suddenly nervous.

_I owe them this much._

“I’m in… rehab, at the moment.” She searches their faces for any signs of disappointment, but they’re both just watching her. Waiting. “Space rehab, anyway. It’s compulsory. Court-ordered, actually, if you can believe it.”

“By who?” Ryan frowns. 

_Ah._

“An old friend,” she says, then: “Well, that’s not entirely true. She’s actually my wife, but we haven’t met yet — not in this body, anyway…”

Ryan snorts into his tea at the same time that Graham sighs. 

“I have _so_ many questions,” Graham says, exasperated. “First off — when did she court-order you to…? And why?”

“Ah, s’hard to explain. Time Lord timelines can get a little bit messy.” She shakes her head, reaching to take her tea from the table. “There could have been something that’s _going_ to happen in my future that River has already lived through. Super complicated — but, what matters is, I’m there for nine weeks, minimum.”

“How far into that are you?” Ryan says as she takes a sip of her tea. “Sorry, I know we’re bombarding with questions, it’s cool if you don’t want to answer.”

Graham nods, too, supporting this — and she knows they mean well, but she also knows they’re just being polite. They need her to be honest with them; now, more than ever.

“I think I’m about three weeks in, give or take a few days,” she tells them, resting the mug on her knees. “Time kind of stands still over there, you know?”

Ryan nods. “My mate Matt went to rehab a couple years ago, he said the same. About time feeling different. Went to visit him once — it were dead funny. He was a proper hard lad, dead angry at the world, but after a few weeks in the centre, he was knitting scarfs for the old people’s home across the road.”

“Knitting?” The Doctor’s eyebrows shoot up. “That sounds fun. I think I can knit. Maybe.”

“The Doc’s got a houseplant,” Graham tells Ryan, nudging him. 

She grins, proudly.

“That’s great, Doctor,” Ryan says. “What you going to call it?”

She frowns. “Call it?”

“Yeah! You’ve got to give it a name. That’s what Nan used to say, anyway — didn’t she, Grandad?” He turns to Graham, who beams in response. “Nan said if you give something a name, you’re more likely to look after it. I mean, you might forget to water a regular plant, but would you ever forget to feed poor _Ethel?”_

The Doctor laughs at the drama in his voice. “Ethel?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, first name that came into my head.”

“Right!” Graham claps his hands together, suddenly. “I’ve decided. Spaghetti bolognese.” He runs his eyes over their amused faces. “Come on, you donuts. Not long now before dinner and if you think I’m doing it all by myself, you’re bleedin’ mad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up later tonight...  
> ♡The fam have dinner. Together.  
> ♡The Doctor and Yaz have a difficult conversation.
> 
> Ahhh I'm so looking forward to sharing with you all! Subscribe, bookmark, do whatever you need to do that'll make your update ping straight to your emails in a few hours. 
> 
> Hope you don't get bored with me blabbin' about how much your feedback and comments mean to me. 'Cos they mean *so fucking much*. I love you all, hope you're staying safely indoors and taking care of ur mental health!!! Beth♡♡♡


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spag bol, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's the moment we've been waiting for. I've read and re-read this thing so many times to try and make sure I've done it right. Hopefully -- if I've succeeded -- this is a real pivotal moment for everyone.
> 
> I really, *really* hope you like it.

The Doctor is in charge of simmering. It’s her one job, Graham tells her, just to keep stirring the pan and make sure everything keeps on simmering. Ryan has other ideas, though. After being put in charge of onion chopping, he only manages about ten minutes in the kitchen before he dumps half a chopped onion into Graham’s frying pan and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“I’ve got to go outside, my eyes are streamin’,” Ryan announces, grabbing the Doctor’s arm and dragging her with him. “Come on, you. Grandad can finish up.”

“Oi, you two!”

“What about the simmering—”

“He’ll be fine,” Ryan assures her, leading them back out into the garden. “We’ve helped enough — he’s _always_ like this with cooking, especially when we’ve got guests.” He meets her eyes. “Not that you’re a _guest_ , really, you’re family.”

“Thanks, Ryan,” she murmurs, warmly, as they step out into the cool air. 

The sun is starting to creep down in the sky, now. It’s close to golden hour, and the yellow light is already starting to pour into Graham’s garden. Ryan ducks back inside to grab a couple of blankets and throw them over the backs of the seats.

“We won’t need them yet, it’s just because when Graham insists on eating outside — and he will — it’ll get real chilly, real quick.” He pauses, eyes her outfit with a grin, then adds, “Actually, I’m going to get you a jumper, Doctor. Those PJ’s don’t look very warm.”

He reappears a moment later with one of Graham’s jumpers; an old, green-grey wooly thing that drowns her completely. Ryan steps back as she slips it over her head, lets the cuffs of the sleeves hang down by her fingertips.

“It’s a bit big.”

Ryan laughs, reaching to tug her hair out from under the collar. “It’s adorable. And warm, right?”

“It _is_ warm,” she grumbles, though now when she sees Yaz she’ll be wearing one of Graham’s jumpers that practically reaches her knees.

_Wait, what’s that? Vanity, or… embarrassment?_

_Weird. Not used to that one._

Graham appears with a loud laugh and a bottle of wine, stepping through the patio doors and setting the wine down on the table. “That is _quite_ a look, Doc. You wear it better than I do.”

She feels herself blush as Ryan tugs out his phone and snaps a picture with a grin.

“Dinner will be about twenty minutes, I reckon. And Yaz should be—”

There’s a knock on the door, and suddenly the embarrassment melts into… something else entirely.

Graham and Ryan turn to meet her eyes. Ryan moves to stand next to her chair, plants a hand on her shoulder.

“S’open, love!” Graham calls.

The front door clicks open. Footsteps. Hearts pounding.

Yaz steps through the patio doors and into the garden. Almost immediately, her eyes land on the Doctor, and the smile drops from her face. The Doctor feels her hearts sink to the bottom of her chest.

_She hates me._

_Actually,_ she argues with herself, _Graham said that she_ doesn’t _hate me._

_Oh, and Graham knows, does he?_

_Of course Graham knows,_ she snaps back. _It’s_ Graham.

Yaz’s mouth hangs open like she’s forgotten how to speak. The Doctor can’t remember standing up, but she is, now, standing looking at Yaz with just a few paces between them. Ryan shuffles closer to the Doctor, like he’s getting ready to jump in between them.

_Won’t be necessary,_ she thinks, sadly. _If Yaz tries to thump me, I’ll let her._

“What’s going on?” Yaz says, finally, her voice hard. “Graham. What’s going on?”

_I hope this works. I hope she trusts his judgement._

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Graham’s voice is soft as he steps towards Yaz, hands raised in surrender. “But it is really her, love. She’s here, and she’s alive, and she needs our help.”

“She needs her family,” Ryan adds, moving even closer to the Doctor. He stays slightly in front of her, protective, and she feels a warm surge of appreciation for him.

Yaz’s eyes linger on the Doctor for a second too long before she turns away from her and focuses her eyes on Graham. “How do you know it’s really her?”

_It’s not going to work._

“It’s hard to explain,” Graham says, quietly. His voice breaks a little when he says that, and the Doctor feels her breath catch in her throat. “I know she doesn’t look the same, and she doesn’t have her sonic or the TARDIS, but… I just know.” His voice softens as he steps forward and rests a hand on Yaz’s arm. “Grace always said that you shouldn’t ever need proof when it comes to faith. I don’t need proof with her. I believe.”

“I believe, too,” Ryan adds. He meets Yaz’s eyes with a firm desperation. “Yaz, really. I know it’s… mental, but it _is_ her. She would’ve come back sooner but it’s—” He shoots a look behind him at the Doctor. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

Yaz’s eyes are full of tears, but her eyebrows are furrowed into a frown.

_She’s wavering,_ the Doctor thinks, suddenly. _She wants to believe, she just doesn’t want to let herself._

Yaz takes a deep, shaky breath, and closes the remaining space between them. Ryan steps slowly out of the way, and even Graham moves back, giving the two of them space. There’s less than a foot’s space between their bodies. Yaz’s glossy eyes focus solely on the Doctor’s, her face still frowning whilst her eyes are… searching. For something else.

The Doctor stops breathing. She’s sure of it. She can almost feel her hearts stutter to a stop.

_Say something, please. Say anything._

Yaz doesn’t speak. Instead, she reaches out, painfully slowly, and rests her hand on the Doctor’s cheek.

Time seems to stand still.

Gently, Yaz’s thumb traces the Doctor’s jawline, remembering just how she’d been before. Remembering how these cheeks were fuller, last time, and these lips were crinkled from smiling, not frowning, and these eyes… 

These eyes were less haunted.

“Is it really you?” she whispers, pressing the palm of her hand to the Doctor’s cheek. “Do you promise?”

The Doctor’s eyes fill with tears. “I promise. It’s really me. I’m just… different, that’s all.”

“You know stuff that we don’t, don’t you?” Yaz’s eyes search hers. Her lip trembles. “You know stuff that’s changed everything.”

The Doctor blinks, and a tear falls and trickles down Yaz’s thumb. She sniffs, reaches out and holds Yaz’s wrist in her hand. “Oh, Yasmin Khan. I’ve missed you.”

In the space of two heartbeats, Yaz has thrown herself into the Doctor’s arms. The two of them stumble but don’t fall, held together so tightly that neither one of them remember to breathe.

“I’m sorry—” Yaz gasps through sudden tears, her chin pressed firmly to the Doctor’s shoulder. “I just didn’t want… I mean, if it wasn’t you, I don’t know what I’d have—”

“—I’m sorry, too.”

Yaz’s shoulders shake against hers. “For what?”

The Doctor pulls her closer, breathes her in. _Yasmin Khan._ Yasmin Khan smells like hair braids and daisy chains and holding hands walking through deep forests. Yasmin Khan’s smell is frozen blueberries melting into porridge and orange flares in the middle of the night and that one star that shines slightly brighter than the rest.

“Never should’ve left,” she mumbles, blinking furiously as her tears dampen Yaz’s hair. “That’s what I’m sorry for.”

“You did what you had to to save us,” Yaz whispers. “It’s okay.”

“Still sorry.” The Doctor pulls away to meet her eyes. “Still will be sorry, for a long time.”

“Just, don’t leave again, yeah?” Yaz pleads, weaving her fingers tightly with the Doctor’s.

“Actually, that’s something I can’t promise just yet,” she says, glancing down at the three remaining lights on her bracelet. “But for now, I can stay for dinner.” She lets go of Yaz’s hands to swipe tears from her cheeks. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Yaz takes her hand again, squeezes tightly. 

“Right,” Graham’s voice cuts through the quiet, and the two turn to see him and Ryan, wet-cheeked and standing together by the patio doors. Ryan heaves a deep, sniffly breath. “Spag bol, anyone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I mean... I hope you like this one, guys. This is the chapter I wanted to write on my birthday a few days ago, but the story just wasn't ready yet. Yaz wasn't ready yet. This is the start of a long road to recovery for the Doctor -- at least now, though, she'll have her fam by her side.
> 
> YES there will still be angst, arguments, tearful fights and cuddles and hand-holding to come; you can't rebuild a relationship in a day and expect everything to be rainbows and butterflies (and the hard stuff is more fun to write, am I right?)
> 
> But for now, it's a woolly Grandad Graham jumper, marmalade sunsets and al fresco spag bol with the fam. And that's enough.
> 
> Beth
> 
> P.S. As always, *two* new chapters up tomorrow. Click subscribe for your update-convenience and also, let's be real, to make my heart soar.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spaghetti and stargazing with the fam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some wholesome content for you here, folks. Enjoy this sweet break from all the angst...

“This is _great_ , Graham,” Yaz tells him, with a grin. “I didn’t realise you could cook!”

“Well, I couldn’t, truth be told,” Graham tells them. “Retirement’ll do this to you, be warned. You suddenly start picking up new hobbies — and I wanted to pick up something that’d be useful, you know?”

“He’s really mastered the spag bol,” Ryan says, through a mouthful of spaghetti. “His mushroom risotto needs work.”

“Oi!”

The Doctor can’t stop looking around the table. She’s been doing it for the last hour — can’t _help_ herself — can barely keep her eyes on her plate long enough to scoop up another forkful of spaghetti. Because they’re here. All of them. _The fam._ Sharing the same little square of patio table, elbow to elbow, in the same garden, on the same evening on the same planet. Earth. _Home_.

In those first few days at the centre, she didn’t think she’d ever feel like this again. Even _this morning_ , when she’d chased Yaz into that courtyard with all the desperation of a broken woman, she never thought she’d get the chance to experience this, again. Dinner with the fam. _Her_ fam.

Yaz keeps looking at her, she can feel her eyes on her cheeks whenever she looks away. She knows that some of those elbow-bumps from Yaz’s side are deliberate. Some of them are accidental because of the small space they share and some of them mean, _are you okay?_

She’s asked the Doctor that a few times, Yaz. Sometimes with her mouth and sometimes with her eyes. _She’s still not sure,_ the Doctor thinks, meeting Yaz’s eyes with a soft smile. _She’s still walking on eggshells around me._

Probably guilt, for not believing the Doctor in the first place — that’s what she reckons, anyway. All the Doctor can do is keep reassuring her that she’s okay. Or, she will be, anyway.

When Graham and Ryan start clearing the table of everyone’s plates and take everything through to the kitchen, the Doctor and Yaz are finally alone. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she says, for about the tenth time, shifting to face the Doctor. “Are you… sure you’re okay?”

Her heart surges.

She swallows. “I mean, I think so. I think I am.”

Yaz’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “I’m sorry I keep asking, I’m just… worried, that’s all. You look exhausted — although, I _do_ love the hair.”

“You do?” The Doctor fingers the ends of her hair, falling past her shoulders now and just beyond her collarbones. “Ryan doesn’t like it.”

“Ryan only doesn’t like it because it looks like you haven’t brushed it in a year,” Yaz says, with a soft laugh. “I promise you, once I’ve sorted it out, he’s going to love it.”

The Doctor frowns. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“Oh, come on — I’m just going to plait it a bit—”

“—Yasmin Khan, absolutely not.”

“You’ll love it, I promise.” A mischievous grin grows on Yaz’s face. “Just a couple of braids, nothing too mad.”

“I mean it, Yaz.”

She grins. “We’ll see.”

God, she could only imagine it. Yasmin Khan twisting her hair back into some mad hairstyle and then releasing her looking like some kind of unhinged scientist. Yaz smirks and lets it go, taking a sip of her wine, and the Doctor can’t help but smile. Because it feels good to be back here, arguing about little things that don’t mean anything, for once.

‘ _Get off me, Yaz!’_

_Oh, no._ She takes a deep, steadying breath. _Don’t do that, Doctor._

_Maybe Yaz isn’t the only one feeling guilty, still._

Yaz touches her arm. “Doctor?”

“Yeah? Sorry. Zoned out a little, there.”

Yaz smiles, gently. “I said, when do we get to have you, like, for good?”

The Doctor smiles at that. _For good._

“I mean, I think we’re running on slightly different times,” she muses. “I’ll find out. For me, there are only six weeks left.”

“Six weeks feels like ages.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She sighs, takes a sip of the wine Graham’s laid out for them. “But River wouldn’t have sent me there if I didn’t need to be there. I just need to stick it out. Keep learning stuff. I love learning stuff, anyway. S’just weird when it’s about yourself.”

“River?”

_Oh._

“Alright, you lot,” Graham greets them, closely followed by Ryan as they step back into the garden. “How long have you got now, Doc?”

_I’d almost forgotten._

“Time’s nearly up,” she says, her eyes lingering on the bracelet. She’s overwhelmed, suddenly, by how much she wants to stay. By how, even after eight short hours, this seems to have become the place she wants to _go home_ to. “I have to go soon. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll stay with you,” Yaz says, with a nod to the others.

Graham hums his agreement. “‘Course we will, cockle.”

“When will you be back?” Ryan says, concern drawing lines across his forehead. “We’ll see you again soon, won’t we?”

“Can’t remember what happens next,” she tells them, honestly. “I think I get to come for a weekend, but I’ll have to ask Lora. He’s in charge.”

“If you come for a weekend, you can stay at mine,” Yaz assures her. “You don’t need to give any warning, or anything. I’ll make sure there’s some fresh bedding in the cupboard.”

Her hearts glow.

“Thank you, Yaz.”

_Definitely no getting out of the hair thing, then._

“Hey, look,” Ryan says, suddenly, jumping up from his chair and knocking the table in the process. Yaz reaches out to steady her glass of wine. Ryan extends his finger, pointing skyward. “ _Look!_ I’ve never seen stars that clear before. Thought we were too polluted here to see ‘em.”

“It’s a constellation.” Yaz pushes her chair back and moves to stand beside him. “See?”

“Doc?” Graham says, quietly. “What’s that one?”

The Doctor stands, as well, her hands balled into the sleeves of Graham’s huge jumper, wrapping her arms around her waist. There’s an evening breeze, now, and she reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, clearing her throat.

“That’s Aquila the Eagle.” When she speaks, her voice is so low and so gentle that everyone turns to her. Nobody speaks. “That constellation of stars is about seventeen light years away from where we are now.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Yaz, her eyes lingering on the Doctor.

The red light flashing on her bracelet catches her eye.

“Oh, fam, I’ve got to—”

“It’s okay, Doc,” Graham reassures her. “We’ll see you soon, eh?”

_I hope so._

“Thanks for having me,” she says, taking one last look around them as she starts to feel the pull. “My fam.”

She blinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! Sorry it's so dialogue-heavy, I just really needed to get into the flow of conversation again as this is their first *quality time* together as a fam. OH, and if anyone wants to draw a picture of our gal in that huge oversized jumper, I'd literally kill to see it. Actually I ordered a new drawing tablet yesterday so hopefully I'll be able to share some Thasmin Art Art as well as Writing Art with you all -- follow thirteengrins on tumblr for updates!♡
> 
> Anyway, my love for you all is endless. I'll see you in a few hours for chapter TWENTY! Make sure you've subscribed so that you'll get a little update straight to your inbox. Stay home, stay safe, stay connected with those who love you. Beth ♡♡
> 
> P.S. This is a fuckin PROMISE that there will be a hair braid scene in the future.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has been at the facility for a month. She has a chat with Lora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making spag bol for dinner tonight because I made myself jealous yesterday. I don't know WHERE you guys are today, but here in the good ol' north of england we've got fucking RADIANT weather and I've been sitting outside writing and plotting all day. In honour of the sunshine -- a rare occasion in my neck of the woods -- this chapter was made for reading *outside* (if you have a garden / are able to in lockdown. If not, just open a window. If it's night time, just, like, light a candle or something). omg i don't know. enjoy♡♡♡

The summer’s breeze is warm, welcoming. It carries the waving ends of her hair, drifting strands delicately in front of her face. She sits cross-legged on the grass, cup of tea balanced on the ground by her knees, steam gently spiralling into the blue sky. 

It’s too warm for the jumper, so she’s spread it out underneath her like a picnic blanket. It’s become something of a comfort, Graham’s jumper, at least for these few days as she’s waiting patiently to see the fam again. Lora doesn’t mind her carrying it round, at least. He can see how much it means to her.

“Thought I might find you out here,” Lora says, with a smile, moving to sit beside her. She’s grateful of the space he leaves between them, the air of respect that settles around them. “How are you feeling since we spoke this morning, Doctor?”

“I feel okay,” she says, quietly, meeting his eyes with a smile. “Good.”

“Out of ten?”

“Solid seven. Maybe eight.”

“Anything we can do to make it into a ten?”

She laughs. “I don’t need it to be a ten. I want to save my tens for special occasions.” She smirks. “Though, I’ll tell you what’d push it up to a _nine_ …”

He produces the packet of custard creams with an eye roll. She helps herself with a mock salute.

“I was going to ask, Lora,” she starts. “Does it feel like summer here because I’m happy? Is the perception filter moulding to what it thinks I feel like?”

“It’s more… it chooses what it thinks would improve your mood,” he replies, with a smile. “If you fancy a bit of heavy rain, it’d probably throw that in for you.”

She hums, lightly. “Might try that. Was just wondering.”

“It’s nice to see you like this, Doctor,” he says, quietly. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same person that arrived here a month ago.”

“A month?” she says, through a mouthful of biscuit. “Is that how long it’s been?”

His eyes crinkle at the sides. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

She hums her agreement, dusts crumbs from Graham’s jumper. “I feel better after seeing the fam. More hopeful, like. I just… I’m worried about what happens afterwards.”

“What do you mean?” Lora says, patiently. “You’re worried about how you’ll cope?”

“How I’ll cope, how the fam’ll cope, yeah.” She sighs. “I feel happier, now, than I’ve been in a while, but I still…” She clears her throat. “I still feel sad _loads_ of the time. I feel perpetually guilty, and sad, and sometimes just hopeless.” She picks dismissively at blades of grass. “Maybe it’s just a Time Lord thing, you know? Who knows how many lives I’ve had — how much I’ve got to feel bad about.”

Lora leans back onto his palms, crosses his legs out in front of him. “Let me pitch a scenario to you.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrow. “I’m listening.”

“You’re in the TARDIS, and you notice Yaz is acting off. Maybe she’s just not as chatty, maybe she’s chattier than usual, maybe there’s just something _different_ in her behaviour that worries you. What do you do?”

“I’d ask her to tell me what was wrong.”

“And if she wouldn’t?”

“I’d… I’d just remind her that she could tell me anything. She _can_ tell me anything.”

Lora nods, approvingly. “So, you tell Yaz, and she eventually confesses. She tells you she’s actually horribly depressed. She feels like she can’t do anything right, like she’s a burden to everyone around her. Some days she just feels like life isn’t even worth living anymore.”

The Doctor’s breath hitches in her throat. “Okay.”

“Would you think of her differently?” Lora turns to meet her eyes. “Would you think she was weak? Drop her off home back in Sheffield to save yourself the trouble?”

She frowns, hurt. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“So, your opinion of Yaz wouldn’t change?” The Doctor shakes her head, firmly. “What about your behaviour towards her?”

The frown still creases her forehead as she thinks. 

“I suppose… yeah, it would. But only because I’d make sure I checked in more, you know? Not in a suffocating way, I’d just… I’d make sure I was thinking more about her, seeing if she needs anything or if there’s anything I could do to help.”

Lora hums at the blue sky. “Now, isn’t that lovely. How friendship works.”

Her expression softens. “Oh. Okay. I get it.”

Lora grins. “Get what? This was all just hypothetical, of course.”

“‘Course,” she murmurs, smiling.

She leans back on her palms, now, too, mirroring Lora. Sparrows swoop lowly overhead, nesting in the nearby oak tree. Her hearts thud steadily in her chest.

“There’s still something bothering you,” Lora notes, gently, keeping his chin tilted up towards the sparrows nest.

“There are just…” She swallows, still holding half an uneaten custard cream in her hand. “There are still some scary questions I can’t quite answer. Might _never_ be able to answer — that’s never really bothered me before, I mean, time is one thing I _have,_ but…”

“Perhaps verbalising the scary questions will make them less scary,” Lora suggests. She shrugs a response. “Why don’t you try?”

When she speaks, her voice is low. “What if I kill myself?” She flinches as she says it. “Not that I _want_ to, just, what if _that’s_ why River sent me here? What if that happens in the future, and she sent me here to prevent it?"

“Now, I haven’t known you for a spectacularly long time, Doctor,” Lora says, slowly. “But I’d put bets on you _not_ being the kind of person to string their entire life on a future _what if_.”

She smiles, tightly, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“Is that a therapist’s way of saying _what’s meant to be will be?_ ”

He laughs. “It’s a therapist’s way of saying, you can’t live your life worrying about tomorrow. You can be the best version of yourself now, today, and the next day, and the next. You can treat yourself kindly and reach out for help when you need it. You cannot let twisted timelines define how you live the rest of your life.”

The Doctor sighs, shoving the rest of the custard cream into her mouth. 

She says, spraying crumbs as she does: “You’re right, of course... Just needed to say it out loud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, a gremlin *hissing at the computer with a mouthful of mini-eggs*: hahaaaa they thought it was going to be ALL FLUFF from here on out NO there is still Internal Conflict!!! and guilt!!! 
> 
> ...and love and healing, come on, I'm not *always* a gremlin (only in lockdown). What would you guys like to see next in the story? I'd love to hear your ideas and, yes, I've written a hair braid scene, it's adorable, and it's coming SOON! I also wrote a scene today where the Doctor gets discharged and MAN I wish I could share it with you now cos I cried writing it and I need someone else to feel my pain.
> 
> anyway -- two chapters tomorrow! subscribe for v convenient updates via email and v happy Beth sitting at home behind her laptop. love to you all.♡♡♡


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor prepares for a weekend at Yaz's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little, short, filler chapter for you guys, because LATER it's SLEEPOVER TIME!
> 
> Click *subscribe* for an adorable Thasmin sleepover to ping straight to your emails later...♡♡♡

“Feels weird to be going away for the weekend without packing anything,” she comments, scanning her eyes over the bare bedroom. “Someone’s going to water Shelley, right?”

“Shelley— oh.” Lora’s eyes fall on the houseplant amusedly. “Why Shelley?”

She shrugs. “Met Mary and Percy once. They were nice. Just thought, ‘spider plant’ sounds quite scary, doesn’t it? Like Mary’s Frankenstein. Well, Frankenstein’s monster. Plus, Ryan’s Nan, Grace, said you should name plants after old ladies.” She frowns. “At least, I think that’s what she said.”

“I’ll make sure someone waters… them,” Lora promises. “Him? Her?”

“It’s a gender neutral plant,” she says, off-handedly, slipping Graham’s jumper on over her head, letting the sleeves fall down over her fingers. She untucks her hair from under the collar like Ryan had done, tugs her fingers loosely through the tangles. “Have we got a hairbrush knocking about, Lora?”

“There should be one in the desk drawer,” he tells her, with a smile, watching as she tugs the drawer open and discovers her toiletries for the first time.

“Ohhhh,” she sighs, holding up various amenities. “You know, I _totally_ forgot to ask about flannels.” She glances up at Lora. “You know, towels are kind of a given in any new place, but a _flannel,_ a minute version of a towel — they seem very rare to come by. One seldom remembers to ask for a flannel…”

“You’re rambling,” Lora notes. “Are you nervous?”

She collapses into the armchair. “Proper nervous, yeah. Could you tell? You could definitely tell, couldn’t you?”

Lora sighs, eyeing her foot as she taps it anxiously against the smooth, white floor.

“What aspects of spending a weekend on Earth are you anxious about, Doctor?”

“Everything,” she moans, throwing her head back in despair. “I’m just rubbish at being social and normal and doing human things. What if my friends are only my friends because we go on mad adventures to different planets together, eh? What if, after a weekend with them on Earth, they realise I’m actually _not_ that special.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, challenging him to come up with a comeback.

Lora smiles. “Funny how, when you’re feeling insecure, you refer to them as friends rather than family. They’re the fam, right?”

She sighs, frustrated. _Ugh, he always knows what to say._

Lora continues, “What was it that Grace said that you told me made you feel better? Then Graham said it again when you went for family therapy?”

“Family’s family,” she mutters.

“Ah,” he muses, with a nod. “Such a simple phrase that holds so much truth, don’t you think?” He meets her eyes. “Play that phrase on a loop in your head and see if it can pull you out of that insecurity, Doctor.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’m going to get a brew before we go.”

She stands up suddenly, Graham’s jumper falling mid-way down her thighs, and marches from the room.

Lora, smirking, calls after her: “Twenty minutes, Doctor, I mean it! Don’t be late!”

The recreation room is quiet today. The weather — _fake weather,_ she reminds herself — is nice today, the light summery sun continuing from yesterday, so most of the patients are scattered across the lawn outside. It’s barely nine a.m.. She’ll miss Circle Time for the next few days, but so will most people in family therapy.

_It’s fine,_ she tells herself, trying to shake the feeling that she’s skipping out on therapy. She doesn’t know where that random thought has come from. _I’m going to family therapy, it’s just a different_ type _of therapy._

Maybe it was because leaving to see the fam didn’t _feel_ like going to therapy.

Not yet, anyway.

She crosses the recreation room to the kitchen hatch.

“Grace, I’m leaving,” she says, dramatically throwing herself onto the hatch’s counter. “Only for the weekend, but _still_. How are you going to cope without me?”

“Well, for a start,” Grace replies, with a smirk. “I’m not going to need to buy more sugar until Monday.”

“Not true,” the Doctor argues, playful. “You need to buy more on Sunday, _ready_ for me on Monday.”

Grace laughs, flicks the kettle on absent-mindedly. “Brew before you go, I take it? Oh — what do you think of the stool?”

It’s only then she notices it; a tall, bar-stool tucked just at the right height below the hatch counter. She pulls it out with a grin, runs a hand over the smooth leather seat and slides onto it. 

“Don’t tell me you did this just for me,” she says, coyly. “Because it’s _seriously_ cool, Grace.”

“You stand and chat to me often enough, I thought, why not?” Grace meets her eyes with a smile as she busies herself with mugs and teabags. “I thought maybe if I got you something to sit on, you might stay for even longer.”

The Doctor grins, but the moment suddenly feels bittersweet. “You know, I’ve only six weeks left before they kick me out.”

Grace shoots her a knowing look, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, don’t tell me the escapee wants to stay, now? That’s what I call character development.”

“S’not an escapee if you never actually _escape_ ,” she grumbles back, but Grace only laughs. 

“Let me tell you a secret, Doctor,” Grace says, suddenly, stepping closer to the kitchen counter. “I bet you — in six weeks time, you’ll look around this room and think _I don’t belong here anymore._ This place will have served it’s purpose for you, and you will move on from here and be kinder and braver and brighter than you already are.” She winks, finishes spooning sugar into the tea and slides it across the counter. “And I _know_ you already are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, sweet angels. Loads of you have been asking how I'm doing in lockdown and, truthfully, I'm doing okay! But I am on my own and since feb, because of Covid, I've been unemployed. All of my work is freelance but I've lost all the jobs I'd lined up until September (lol!!! life!!) Anyway this is NOT a sob story, this is just me realising that I commit loads of time and many thousands of words to this fic because I **love** writing it -- and if you guys at any point want to buy me a coffee, I'd so appreciate it.♡
> 
> You absolutely *don't have to*, and, obvs if you use the Ko-fi link and donate £3 to my sorry ass, I will be spending it on rent and bills rather than coffee. But, still. I just figured this has over 1k hits on it now and so many of you seem to be enjoying it, I may as well ask rather than sit over here skint & silent!!
> 
> Don't worry if you can't afford it -- this is a shit time for everyone. Just know that even if you can't donate £3 at this time, i'LL STILL BE FUCKIN WRITING cos that's how much I love YOU and also our stupid big old baby alien and her space girlfriend.♡
> 
> Ko-Fi link: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I love you all, SO much! Thanks for your continued support. Chapter *TWENTY TWO* (can you believe it?) is out in a handful of hours!! See you later! Beth ♡♡♡


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yasmin Khan stubbornly defends the Doctor from herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started with this slightly-angsty-hurt-comfort chapter, I have to talk to you guys. 
> 
> This morning, your kindness brought me to tears. Yesterday I posted a link to my Ko-Fi and told you guys that even though I'll keep writing REGARDLESS, it's really hard having no income because of Covid-19 and having to support myself and my art. Since then, some of you donated and, I mean, I just wasn't expecting it. I genuinely had a good ol' sob in my bedroom; that kind of raw emotion really did impact this chapter.
> 
> So, this chapter is dedicated to you guys: to Max -- whoever you are, THANK YOU -- and to those who have donated anonymously. I love that my art and writing is free for public consumption (SO much!) but, God, it's so nice for people to recognise that writing can kind of become a full-time job that I rarely get paid for. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> From now on, if you decide to drop me a £3 coffee donation -- regardless of whether or not you leave your name -- you will have a chapter dedicated to your honour for being such a fucking legend. 
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I'm so moved. Honestly.
> 
> So, here we go. The first chapter of the Doctor's first weekend back on Earth. I hope you like it. Beth♡♡♡

The Doctor’s hearts pound as she knocks on the door. It wasn’t so long ago that she stood in this corridor, broke into the flat down the hall to find that massive spider, stepped into this room and made awkward conversation with Yaz’s father. It’s not been so long since she was last here, but somehow, everything has changed.

_Oh no, we’re not doing that, we’re not overthinking._ She practices her smile at the closed door, tries and fails to take deep, calming breaths. _We’re going to have a perfect weekend and Lora’s going to be dead proud and everything’s going to be dandy._

Her breathing feels shallow, more difficult than usual. 

_Actually,_ she thinks, with a sudden tightening in her chest, _I think I feel a bit panicky._

She takes a step away from the door and towards the wall, accidentally looks down over the edge and feels her stomach turn again. 

_Oh, come on, that’s just heights. We’re fine with heights._

She tries to ignore the crushing sensation in her chest as her panic is pushed up into her throat.

_What was it Lora said? Repeat the phrase._

_Family’s family._

_Yaz won’t mind if you’re boring or broken — which, let’s face it, you are right now. No TARDIS, no sonic, no wild adventures to take her on… No breathless laughter or stupid jokes or normal, fun Doctor, just… Oh, I hate this. Why is my brain so broken? This is supposed to be a good weekend, don’t ruin it. Don’t. Ruin. It._

_Family’s family. Family’s family._

A tug on the hem of her oversized jumper. “Doctor, listen, count to ten.”

_What if I count to ten and everything is still the same?_

Yaz’s fingers find hers. “Breathe with me, ready? In for five…”

_What if I breathe with you and nothing changes?_

She does, anyway, because Yaz’s fingers tighten around hers and she’s closed her eyes so she no longer feels like she’s falling. She breathes in times with Yaz’s counting until her hearts feel steady enough for her to open her eyes.

“Sorry,” she breathes, when she’s found her words again.

Yaz frowns. “Come inside.”

She lets Yaz loop an arm around her waist and walk her through the door. They sit down on the sofa together. Yaz keeps her arm on the Doctor’s waist until her breathing has slowed to a kind-of-normal rate. Their eyes meet and the Doctor doesn’t hold eye contact for long, feeling the shame wash over her.

“Where are your parents?” she says, just for something to say to break the silence. The flat is, unusually, silent. “It’s not like the Khan household to be so quiet.”

“Oh, I… I asked them to get an Airbnb for the night. And Sonya’s staying with a mate.” Yaz visibly swallows. “I hope that’s okay. I just — I thought it might be quite stressful for you to have to be sociable with loads of people, and I know you said this was part of your therapy, so I just… wanted to make sure it was as chill as possible. Sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“No, it’s—” The Doctor feels herself softening. Shoots Yaz a smile, reassuring. “Super thoughtful, Yaz. Thanks.”

Yaz’s shoulders slump in relief. “Great. Graham and Ryan are going to come round for tea, if that’s alright? And tomorrow, if you’re up for it, we can go for a walk. Maybe pop to that shop you liked and get you some clothes, y’know, for when you get out.”

“That’d be great, Yaz,” she says.

They share the quiet again, for a moment. Yaz lets the calmness settle between them before she says, in the gentlest voice she can muster, “Are we going to talk about what just happened out there?”

The Doctor frowns. “I just… panicked.”

“Yep,” Yaz says. “You did.”

_Damn it, Yasmin Khan,_ she thinks, bitterly, watching Yaz’s stubborn face as she leans back, refuses to talk until the Doctor has expanded. _You know me too well._

“I was just… so desperate for this weekend to go well, you know? I think I’ve put too much pressure on it.” She sighs, buries her face in her hands. “Because if this weekend goes terribly, Yaz, and you all decide that I’m boring and broken and you don’t want me any more, then what happens when I get discharged?”

Yaz’s frown deepens. “Is that really what you think? That we’re going to think you’re boring and broken?”

She removes her face from her hands long enough to choke out, “But I _am_ , Yaz.”

“You’re going to have to walk me through that thought process,” Yaz says, firmly, planting a hand on her knee. “Because to me, it sounds like absolute bollocks.”

“ _Yasmin Khan._ ”

“—I _mean_ it. I do. Explain it to me, Doctor, right now.”

“I…” The Doctor clears her throat. “I don’t feel like I know who I am, right now, Yaz. Every day I feel a little bit closer to getting… well, back to who I used to be. I’m doing good, I swear, I’m just… Being with you lot, it makes me feel like I need to jump back into being myself straight away, and then I feel like I’m not being authentic and, I mean, I’m a really shoddy actress, actually.”

Yaz snorts at that. “You’re such an idiot, Doctor, honestly.”

The Doctor raises her eyebrows, leaning back into the sofa. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, Yaz, but I’m literally on the brink of tears here.”

Yaz laughs, reaching out to take her hands. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. What I _mean_ to say is, well… you _know_ you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Even now?” She’s been wanting to ask that question for a while. Her voice still comes out like a whisper, like a child.

“Yeah,” Yaz says, firmly. “ _Especially_ now. You’re even stronger and kinder and more special than I thought you were already. No matter what happens, you will never stop being important to me.” She squeezes her hands, meets her eyes. “I will not lose you again, Doctor.”

The Doctor nods. She pulls away from Yaz’s hands to swipe her cheeks with her palms. The relief sinks into her shoulders, pulls her back into the soft fabric of Yaz’s sofa.

“Now, I _know_ you love that jumper,” says Yaz, with a soft smile. “We _all_ think it’s adorable. But can I please get you some leggings or something instead of your PJ bottoms?”

The Doctor sniffs with a shaky laugh. “Have you got anything less… sticky?”

Yaz’s eyebrows furrow. “Sticky?”

“Y’know, ones that aren’t so sticky to my legs… I liked my old pants, the baggy ones.”

“Ah, I’m with you. You’re right, that suits you way better.” Yaz stands up. “Kettle boiled before you came — do you think you can make us both a brew while I have a root around in my wardrobe?”

She smiles. “Okay. Thanks, Yaz.”

Yaz brushes her off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s what I’m here for.”

The Doctor watches her disappear down the hallway and into her bedroom. 

“Family’s family,” she murmurs to herself, standing up and heading off to the kitchen. "They love you anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, legends! Can't thank you enough for your endless love, support, and feedback. I'm so lucky to have you and this platform.
> 
> COMING UP:  
> ♡the fam have a Cosy Night In  
> ♡will Yaz be able to control her urge to Braid The Hair??
> 
> To donate £3 to my creative endeavours / angst writing time / coffee fund: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> See you tomorrow for *two* new chapters, as always. Click subscribe to get those updates, babies. Keep being fucking rad.
> 
> Beth♡♡♡


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyjamas, pizza, family movie night -- who's in?
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to ♡Kirstie♡: we've never met and yet you dropped me a little donation to show that you appreciated this fic and the work I'm putting into it and, honestly, it moved me. Thank you for your selflessness and for continuing to read my writing and support my work. I don't need to know you to love you.
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN MY DEFENCE this chapter is so late because it's, like, twice the length of the average chapter I post and I've been trying to edit it allllll morning. Sorry. My bad. ALSO I've been binge watching Broadchurch and I watched the season finale last night so I needed time to *cough* grieve before I dove back into this.
> 
> Here's the fluff we've all been waiting for. Hope you enjoy.♡♡♡
> 
> UPDATE: I DREW SHIT FAN ART OF THIS CHAPTER (THASMIN HAIR BRAIDS!!) 
> 
> https://thirteengrins.tumblr.com/post/616678909014048768/yasmin-khan-just-sit-on-the-floor-and-let-me

It’s barely the afternoon. The white-grey Sheffield sky clouds around them as the Doctor peers out of the Khan’s living room window. No rain, not yet, but it’s hanging in the air somehow, waiting to fall. 

Inside, though, there’s nothing but sunshine. After she couldn’t find any suitably baggy pants for the Doctor, Yaz managed to dress her in plaid reindeer-themed pyjama bottoms, which the Doctor is _overjoyed_ with.

“The whole point,” Yaz had said, earlier, as the Doctor merrily sprung around the flat in pants that were definitely a little too long and a lot too wide, “is that we were getting you _out_ of the pyjama’s and into regular everyday clothes. You’ve changed from one pair of PJ’s to another.”

“But these are _different_ to the white PJ’s,” the Doctor argued back, hitching the too-loose waistband back up before they slipped down. “Different is good. We can get some boring clothes tomorrow. These are _great_.”

“I didn’t mean that we had to get boring clothes — oh, c’mere.” Yaz tugged her closer, exasperated, and pulled the waistband toggles tight, tying them into a loose bow. The Doctor wiggled appreciatively. “God, you’re such a big kid.”

By the time Ryan and Graham arrive in the early afternoon, Yaz has already texted them and told them to bring pyjamas. _Impromptu PJ party,_ her text had read. _Don’t ask._ When she swings open her front door a couple of hours later, Graham’s gone for a matching pyjama set and slippers, which pretty much melts Yaz’s heart, while Ryan opted for… joggers and a t-shirt.

“What?” he demands, meeting Yaz’s frown with a glare. “I was _not_ walkin’ round the block in my PJ’s. It was bad enough having to walk next to that one.”

Graham, already inside and pulling the Doctor in for a hug, says, “What d’you think, Doc? Eh — good to see you’re getting your wear out of that jumper.”

Ryan punches Yaz’s arm playfully and shuffles past her to the Doctor.

“Here you go,” he says, passing her a packet of custard creams and ruffling her overgrown hair as a means of hello. “Good to see you again, Doctor.”

“Are you guys staying over, too?” she says, grinning at both of them as Yaz busies herself getting pizzas out of the fridge. 

“‘Course they are,” Yaz answers for both of them. “Doctor, can you come help me for a sec?”

The boys head into the living room; Ryan collapsing onto the sofa and Graham digging around in his bag, tugging out various DVD cases. The Doctor makes her way over to Yaz, enjoying the flowing floaty feel of her new trousers against her legs. She only stumbles once, when her bare feet get tangled in the too-long cuffs.

Catching herself, she shoots Yaz a grin. “What can I help with, chef Khan?”

“Actually, I wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re okay,” Yaz says, lowering her voice with a soft smile. She starts to take the pizzas out of their packaging, not meeting the Doctor’s eyes. “I don’t want to throw too much at you at once, you know?”

_Oh. Yasmin Khan. Never ceases to think of others._

“Yaz, this is wonderful,” she assures her. “Pizza, pyjamas—” She waves the packet of custard creams before setting it down on the kitchen table. “The fam. It’s great.”

“You’re a little quiet,” Yaz says, very softly. “I just wanted to make sure there’s not something you’re not telling me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just… a little worried, after this morning.”

_That’s allowed,_ she thinks to herself, gently. _That’s okay._

She swallows. “I suppose…I feel a little weird just because I’m not used to, like, sleeping somewhere different. Sleeping in general is different for me, anyway, I think.”

“You have…” Yaz takes a moment to choose her words. “You’ve slept over in places that aren’t the TARDIS before, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” the Doctor says, and even though she’s not lying, she feels unsure. “A few times, anyway. Had a nap on Graham’s couch a while ago, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you were still regenerating then, Doc,” Graham replies, earning himself a stern look from Yaz for eavesdropping. “Not sure that counts.”  
She hums. “When I was a man I stayed over at Rose’s just before I lost my hand.” She frowns. “I suppose I was regenerating then, too.”

“Do you want to see how it feels?” Yaz says, gently. She reaches out and tugs at the Doctor’s sleeve. “Come on, the boys can get the pizzas in.”

Ryan’s groans follow them down the hallway.

Yaz leads her into Sonya’s room. They sit down on the edge of her bed. Yaz gives her a moment to look around the room, to take it in, before she says, “You could stay here, or my room, or Mum and Dad’s — whatever you like. You can even leave the door open, if you want, or someone can stay with you.”

“I don’t think… I don’t think I want to be alone,” the Doctor says, quietly, avoiding Yaz’s eyes. “Which is weird, because, like, I have my own bedroom at the centre. I guess it just feels a bit different there, you know? There are nurses that check in every few minutes, my bedroom door is never totally shut… I sound stupid, don’t I?”

“Absolutely not,” Yaz says. “This is all new for you, we get it.”

_They get it,_ she thinks, with a wave of appreciation. _I need to stop worrying so much._

Because everything she’s only just realising she’s worried about — the fam have already thought of. There are already measures in place to pre-empt any kind of panic. 

Her hearts feel full. _They’re the best._

“Do you miss home?” Yaz says, quietly. “The TARDIS, I mean. It’s weird thinking about the two of you without each other. You kind of go hand in hand.”

_Home is wherever they are._

But home is, also, her. Her oldest friend, except for the Master.

She nods. “I miss her loads.”

Yaz nudges her, softly. “You’ll get her back soon. And your sonic, and your coat.” She pauses for a moment, scans the Doctor’s glossy eyes, and adds: “But, you know, just because you have all your old things, that doesn’t mean we’ll be expecting you to go straight back to the old you, you know?”

The Doctor looks up, suddenly, meets Yaz’s eyes. “What if I never go back to the old me? What happens then?”

Yaz smiles. “Nothing happens. We’ll love you anyway. We love you for who you were in the past, for who you are now, and for whoever you turn out to be in the future. That’s that. Simple.”

“Simple,” she echoes. “Thanks, Yaz.”

“Now, come on.” Yaz tugs her by the hand, doesn’t give her the chance to argue. “Grab that duvet — those pillows, too. You and I can sleep in the living room tonight. Ryan, too. We’ll let Graham have my bed, otherwise he’ll be moaning about his bloody back _all day_ tomorrow…”

They drag the bedding into the living room, where Ryan is still fiddling with the buttons on the oven and Graham is on his knees by the DVD player. With a huff, Yaz heads over to help Ryan sort the pizzas. The Doctor hovers for a moment, then collapses down onto the sofa, covers herself with the duvet. She catches sight of her PJ bottoms again with a grin.

Even with her anxiety still fizzling away, the reindeer bottoms are still bringing her _serious_ joy.

“Can I help, Graham?” she offers, rolling onto her side to watch Graham fumble with the disk drive. “I’m alright with technology, really.”

“I think I’ve — hey, presto! There we go.” 

The DVD player makes a humming sound and then the screen flickers to life and Graham moves to sit beside her on the sofa. 

“What are we watching?” Yaz says, leaning against the back of the sofa, her breath hot on the Doctor’s neck. She’d texted the boys earlier, hoping to avoid any triggering films, with instructions: _family friendly films only. The more songs, the better._

Graham proudly holds up the _Moana_ DVD case.

“Grandad,” Ryan moans, arranging pillows at the foot of the sofa to make his own seat. “How many times have you watched that already?”

“It’s a great film, son,” Graham says, unfazed. He nudges the Doctor with his elbow, gestures to the screen. “You seen this one before, Doc?”

She frowns as the title screen shows blue-green animated waves. “Don’t think so.”

“You’ll love it,” Yaz promises, appearing by the front of the sofa, hairbrush in hand. “Now — _please_ let me try something.”

“Yasmin Khan—”

“—Just, sit on the floor and let me brush it, okay? That’s all I’m doing. Brushing it.”

“If all you’re doing is brushing it,” the Doctor argues, shuffling reluctantly to sit next to Ryan at the foot of the sofa. “Then _why_ do you have hair ties?”

Yaz steps over them both and kneels next to Graham, behind the Doctor, with a grin.

“Just sit and watch the bloody film,” Yaz says, firmly, shuffling the Doctor’s shoulders so she’s up against the back of the shoulder, Yaz’s knees against her back. “If you hate it, I _promise_ I’ll take it out — _and_ I’ll buy you a hat tomorrow. I know how much you love hats.”

“Good Lord,” Graham says, as Ryan groans. “Do _not_ buy her any more hats.”

“How about…” The Doctor cranes her neck backwards to meet the frown of an upside-down Yaz. “…I’ll let you do my hair on the condition that you buy me a hat.”

Yaz sighs. “Fine. But you won’t need it, I promise.”

She grins a response, turns back to the TV. Ryan shoots Yaz a knowing look over the Doctor’s shoulder, and she rolls her eyes in return. The opening scene starts to play and, though she huffs when Yaz’s fingers start to comb gently through her hair, the Doctor leans back against the sofa and listens to the music. Surrounded by her fam, as the smell of pizza drifts slowly into the living room, as Yaz’s fingers delicately twist and pull and smooth in her hair, she relaxes. Takes a deep breath. 

Feels her hearts sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of our adorable family sleepover continues later tonight -- subscribe to get an email when it drops!
> 
> NEXT UP:
> 
> ♡Secret Thasmin whispered midnight conversations out on the balcony? (do the Khan's even have a fuckin balcony? does this gal CARE???)  
> ♡Picture this: The Doctor in reindeer PJ bottoms and Graham's huge jumper, outside at night-time, with the wind tugging lightly at her two french plaits that Yaz has so lovingly woven into her hair...
> 
> I'm so excited to share with you. As always, thank you for all the love. As always, I'm still a full-time writer (of books and articles as well as gems like this) who is skint as hell, so if you want to support me with a £3 Ko-Fi donation, you will have a chapter dedicated in your honour and I'll probably cry myself to sleep knowing I can eat food next week.
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL. Stay safe, stay inside, CALL YOUR FAM, be kind. Beth♡♡♡


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the middle of the night, and the Doctor sneaks out onto Yaz's balcony for some self-reflection.
> 
> For maximum impact, listen to Novo Amor - 'Birthplace' whilst reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I warned you. We all get introspective in the middle of the night, and the Doctor is no different.
> 
> Grab a brew, get settled, let's dive in.♡

She wakes up with Yaz’s hand tangled in her hair, with Ryan’s legs somehow twisted with hers, to the soft music of Graham’s snoring. Leftover pizza litters the floor, half-full cups of tea and cans of coke scatter the countertops. The dark room glows blue with the title screen of _Moana_ playing gently on a loop in the background. They hadn’t fallen asleep straight after the film; there’d been card games, charades, a rather heated game of _Monopoly…_

Her chest feels tight. She untangles herself from the fam and steps carefully over Ryan’s sleeping body. Slides open the glass door, steps out, barefoot, onto the balcony.

Sheffield looks beautiful from up on the Khan’s balcony. Well, Sheffield looks beautiful most of the time; the people, the lights, the bustling streets and pasty shops on every corner and that low, broad accent that rings out everywhere and makes this little cluster of mass on this little fragile planet feel like… well, home.

It’s cold out here, but she wraps her arms around her middle, tugs the collar of her jumper up to cover her mouth. Breathes hot air and feels it pool back inside the wool, settle against her collarbones. She’s frowning, she can feel it; her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes feel heavy and she registers, somewhere, that she’s biting her lip, but she doesn’t stop it. 

_How can so much happen in such a short space of time?_

Time. That was an entirely different issue in itself.

She leans her elbows against the balcony, feeling the cool metal seep its coldness through the wool to press against the skin of her forearms. She’s been alive for hundreds of years — what does it matter if that hundred gets pushed into a thousand? Two thousand, maybe? It shouldn’t matter how long she’s been alive, only that she’s _still_ alive, now.

But that thought makes her feel exhausted. Not because she wants to die — not all the time, not anymore — but because the concept of forever is so vast and painful that she can’t bear to imagine it. Everything ends, eventually. Everyone dies. Every planet implodes; every sun burns out. And who’d be there, at the end of it all, to carry the grief of the billions of beings that fell before her?

_I just want everything to stand still,_ she thinks, desperately, tilting her head up to the night sky. _I just want to not have to feel the weight of time, for just a little while._

She glances down at her bracelet. Lora would probably tell her that the most miserable people are the ones constantly living in the past or worrying about the future. He’d probably tell her that she need only exist here, right now, in this moment. 

_But time works differently for me. The future’s not always after, the past isn’t always before. Sometimes things happen all at once, and then you’re in rehab to help with something you haven’t even thought about yet and you’ve blinked six months away, and…_

The door slides open behind her. She doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to turn and see who’s footsteps manage to sound so soft against the floor, who’s energy is so radiant she can practically feel the warmth glowing behind her.

“You’re crying,” Yaz whispers, mirroring the Doctor’s position, leaning her forearms against the balcony’s rail. 

The Doctor wipes the tears away with the soft wool of her sleeve. “Yeah.”

Yaz nods, thoughtful, then turns to follow the Doctor’s gaze, up to the night sky. Yasmin Khan doesn’t pry, doesn’t offer comfort where comfort isn’t asked for, not right now. Their eyes follow the same line of constellations, unknowingly. Without conversation, their gazes both finish, resting, on the wide, bright moon.

The Doctor’s shoulders slump as she sighs against the balcony’s rail.

“Yaz, when we were—” She clears her throat, starts again. “I know I’ve told you before, but I never should’ve… brushed you off, like that.”

“Doctor—”

“—Please, let me finish, I…” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath to steady her hearts. “I should have respected you more. I shouldn’t have underestimated you. I always do this; I think that my opinion matters more, but I’m…” She sighs. “If I’d stayed with you guys, maybe we could’ve gotten out of it together.”

Yaz softly bumps their elbows together.

“Maybe,” she agrees. “But, y’know, you were right when you said this team structure isn’t flat. It isn’t. You’ve lived longer — loved more, lost more, you _know_ more than we do. And that means, once in a while, you have to make tough calls.” She nudges the Doctor again until their eyes meet. “It’s okay for you to tell us how it’s going to be sometimes. We respect you. We trust your judgement. But when we feel like you’re in the wrong or you need help… We’re going to fight you on it.” A smile. “Well, I am, at least.”

The universe sighs around them. _Relief_. The Doctor can feel it in the stars; in their light, knowing glow, in the moon’s ever-present smile. She swipes again at her cheeks with the wool of her sleeve, but Yaz catches her arm as she’s lowering it back to the balcony. Wiggles her fingers up inside the sleeve of the jumper until she finds the Doctor’s balled fist.

Twines their fingers together without making eye contact. The Doctor’s hearts swell, filling her entire chest, pulsing against her ribcage.

“There’s loads I need to work through, Yaz,” she murmurs, blinking more tears away from her eyes but keeping her voice, for the most part, steady. “There’s loads I don’t know about myself and it keeps— it won’t—” A shaky sigh. “The questions don’t stop buzzing around my head, and I’m so frustrated with myself that most of the time I could just scream.”

Yaz’s fingers tighten in hers.

“I don’t know how long I’ll feel like this,” the Doctor continues, turning her shining eyes to Yaz’s. “But I won’t give up. I’ll keep feeling it until it’s felt.”

“That’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” Yaz whispers, eyes sparkling. “Just stick around to feel the things. Don’t shut me out. Don’t give up.”

The Doctor nods, tearfully, and that one action feels like someone drawing a line at the end of a page. It feels like a writer has typed the full stop, tapped out a line break.

That one nod holds all the weight of an artist dropping their paintbrush back into the water jar; standing back with hands atop hips, humming lightly at their work. In the Doctor’s nod, the universe stands back, hands atop hips, hums lightly, and says, “I think that just might be what she needed to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... angstier than I intended it to be? This slow burn Thasmin is killllling me, I hope it's killing you, too...
> 
> If you're feeling generous, consider buying a coffee for a struggling artist this weekend. (Me, that's me! I love you all - thank you so much for your support, as always. Ko-Fi link below *only* for those who want & can afford to donate. I know times are tough. We're all just tryna pull through together.♡)
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I'll see you tomorrow (*subscribeeeee* to get those updates to your inbox, chicas!) for TWO new chapters, scattered throughout the day just to keep ya on your toes.
> 
> Take care of each other out there. Beth♡


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fam watch the sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm making the most of that balcony I've just stuck in the Khan's house. Have you ever watched the sun rise with people you love?
> 
> It is, truly, one of the most special feelings in the world.
> 
> I'm missing spending the early mornings with my friends at the moment. I'm so used to living with and spending time with my chosen family, it's strange to be suddenly on my own in isolation. Let's call this chapter 'Beth's Ode to Sunrises with Friends'. I'm writing this knowing that, someday, I can share my sunrises again.
> 
> Loneliness is a bitch. I hope you're all doing okay at the moment -- reach out if you need a chat, you guys know I'm in the same boat. And if you're able to, and you actually like my writing (lol it's so fine if you don't), please consider donating £3 to help with my rent / bills / support my creative endeavors at this shitty, shitty time.
> 
> ♡ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> Enjoy the chapter. Sending endless love and positive vibes to you all.♡♡♡

She wakes earlier than the rest of them, boils the kettle whilst it’s still dark and makes herself a cup of tea in a mug shaped like a llama. She assumes it’s Yaz’s, but she doesn’t think Yaz will mind, either way. She tiptoes over the rest of them and back out onto the balcony. 

Against the wall, there are a couple of deck chairs folded and stacked, neatly. She leaves the llama mug on the floor as she unfolds the chair, then settles down into it. The sun is starting to rise — she knew it would, soon, she can sense it somehow. Soon, the sun will pour its marmalade light over early morning Sheffield, and another day will dawn, and she will still be alive.

_Weird, that,_ she thinks. _How everything can feel a little more hopeful after a good night’s sleep. How suddenly waking up to watch a new day dawn feels like a huge privilege._

It will still be a few more minutes until the sun starts to creep up behind the skyline, so she shuffles to sit cross-legged on the deck chair and cradles the tea in her hands. If she has forever, maybe she could stay like this, for a while. If she has to suffer through eternity, maybe she could stay here, enjoy the sunrises, try not to think too much.

_But what about everyone that needs me?_

She frowns at herself. _What about what_ I _need?_

She sighs, inwardly. _Fill your glass, then you can go around splashing water at everyone else, or… something like that. Maybe we need to stay here for a bit and… fill the glass, but then…_ But then, the idea of being back in the TARDIS, of reconnecting and rebuilding and seeing the universe again — that idea gave her itchy feet. That idea felt like the best one.

_Ah._ The eternal struggle. 

_Luckily,_ she thinks, _eternity’s all mine._

The door slides open behind her and the Doctor smiles at the skyline. A blanket falls softly onto her shoulders, and she tilts her head back to greet Yaz. “Hi. Is this for me?”

“You’ll get cold, otherwise.” Yaz’s morning voice is groggy and a little bit croaky. The Doctor smiles as she appears beside her, draped in her own blanket as well, with her hair falling out of it’s loose bun and flecks of mascara on her cheek. “Morning, Doctor.”

“Morning, Yaz.”

“You’re up early,” Yaz says, with a yawn, unfolding a chair next to the Doctor’s. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I don’t sleep for as long as you lot,” she says, tugging the blanket further around her shoulders with a smile. “You’re awake sooner than you should be, though. You’ve barely had your six hours.”

Yaz brushes her off with a smile. “S’fine. I’d rather sit here with you.”

_Oh._

“Your plaits have stayed in okay,” Yaz says, giving her hair a once-over. “What do you think? Was having me do your hair as awful as you thought it’d be?”

“I didn’t think it’d be awful,” she grumbles. “And I don’t hate the plaits, I just can’t do them myself. Shouldn’t really get used to them, because then I’ll start to like them and I won’t be able to _maintain_ them, d’you see?”

“Luckily for you,” Yaz quips, “I intend to _always_ be on hair maintenance duty.”

Warmth bubbles up inside of her. “…Okay.”

“It’s becoming your hangout place, this,” Yaz tells her. “The sun’s not even up yet.”

“It will be,” the Doctor assures her. “We’ve about three and a half minutes, then it’ll start to rise.” She pauses, takes a sip of her tea. “I like being outside. Especially on Earth, there’s something…” She shakes her head. “It’s hard to explain. A sunrise on Earth will always be one of my most treasured sights in the universe.”

Yaz watches the Doctor speak with glossy eyes. Eventually, she shifts in the chair, tucks her feet up underneath her and pulls the blanket right up to her chin.

“Are you cold?” The Doctor frowns. “Do you want this one, too?”

Yaz meets her eyes. “I’m fine, Doctor. Really.”

The door slides open again behind them.

“What are we doing out here, then?” A bed-headed Graham peeks through the door onto the balcony. “Alright, girls? Everything okay?”

"Morning, Graham," the Doctor says, softly.

“Everyone's such early birds today,” Yaz greets him, and he shrugs.

“I’m an old man, Yaz, can’t afford to waste my days like you lot. I wake up with the sun, me. Was just about to make a brew, actually — who’s keen?”

The Doctor passes him her mug gratefully for a refill, and Yaz puts her order in as well. When he ducks back inside to stick the kettle on, Yaz stands up to pull out another chair for Graham.

“How long now, Doctor?”

“Two minutes. Do you think we should wake up Ryan?”

“Only if you want him to hit one of us.”

“Gotcha.”

They’re quiet for a moment, then Yaz says, “Dad does this a lot. Main reason he wanted this flat, the balcony. He says there’s nothing better in the world than watching the sun rise with your family.” She meets the Doctor’s eyes with a smile. “Not that he can ever get me or Sonya up early enough to join him.”

The Doctor smiles. “Your dad’s got the right idea.”

There’s a light orange glow bleeding into the dark sky from behind Sheffield’s row of skyscrapers. Graham clatters around lightly with mugs back in the house, the soft yellow light from the kitchen casting warm shadows on their faces.

“When you get out,” Yaz says, quietly, “you can stay here for as long as you need. Or you can stay in the TARDIS and we’ll come with you, if you want us to. I just… wanted you to know that.” The Doctor turns her head, meets Yaz’s eyes with a questioning look. “You’ve been on your own now for, well, half a year in _my_ time, I don’t know how long it’s been for you. I just need to make sure you know that you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

The Doctor smiles, and Graham steps back through the door, three steaming cups balanced in his hands. He settles down in the chair that Yaz has set up in the middle of them, and they cradle their respective mugs, eyes fixed on the skyline as the world turns gold.

“Here, Graham,” the Doctor murmurs, unwrapping the blanket from her shoulders and shuffling her chair closer, laying it across the two of them.

Graham nudges her knee, appreciatively. “Cheers, Doc.”

Sunrises always seem to happen quicker than you think they’re going to. They start off slowly, creeping upwards like they think you might not notice they’re there, and then, suddenly, blink and you miss the ascent into the sky. Black creeps into blue. The sun spreads golden light like butter, melting over the high-rise flats of Sheffield. 

They’re quiet as the sun rises. The Doctor focuses on the warmth of the sunlight as it falls on her cheeks.

On the way the light catches flecks of gold in Yaz’s brown eyes and sparkles.

“Another brew, then we can do breakfast and go for our walk before we do shopping?” Yaz suggests, stifling another yawn. “I need more than one coffee to wake me up at this time, though. Hey — who’s in charge of raising Ryan from the dead?”

The Doctor grins, holding her hands up in surrender. “No, thanks. I don’t like getting hit, not this early in the morning, anyway.”

Graham sighs, standing up. “Alright, alright, I’ll bite the bullet. I’m used to him in the morning time.” He winks at them both, taking the empty mugs from their hands. “I’m good at dodging by now.”

The Doctor and Yaz share a look, briefly, then both start gathering their blankets and folding the chairs away. _There’s nothing better in the world than watching the sun rise with your family._

She clears her throat, says quietly, as they’re packing up their things: “I really like the hair, Yaz.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Feels nice to have it out of my face a bit.”

“S’nice to see your face.”

“…Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: 
> 
> ♡Ryan actually wakes up and the fam go for a walk  
> ♡the fam go shopping in the city centre
> 
> Will there be more angst? Probably, you know me. 
> 
> My drawing tablet will be arriving in the next few days and you can BET your ASS the first thing I'll be drawing with it will be a little snapshot of the Doctor and Yaz's hand-holding in chapter 24. Keep an eye on my tumblr (thirteengrins) for updates.
> 
> Another chapter is coming later today so subscribeeeee for your updates to your email. Love ya. Beth♡♡♡


	26. author note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \-- this is not a real chapter, pls read end notes -- 
> 
> normal service resumes ♡tuesday 21st april♡, I'm just taking the *one* day off, then I'll be back.

“Are you… sure about this one?” Yaz says, frowning slightly at the mustard-yellow corduroy culottes as the Doctor spun around happily. “I mean, not that they aren’t _great—_ ”

“They’re _totally_ great,” Ryan agrees, also looking a little concerned. “They’re also very… yellow.”

“I think I like yellow,” she muses, standing back to examine herself in the floor-length mirror. The trousers are around the same length as her other ones; wide-leg (the least ‘sticky’ trousers she could find), falling mid-way down her shins. “They feel softer than my other ones, and, look!” She does a jump-spin suddenly, landing in a superhero stance. “See? Aren’t they cool when I spin?”

“Very,” Graham says, tiredly. “And you do a _lot_ of spinning, cockle, so that’s good.” Yaz shoots him a look. “What? I think they’re good pants. They go nice with the jumper, anyway, and she doesn’t seem to be taking that off any time soon.”

“Come on, then,” says Yaz, resignedly. “I’ll get you the trousers.”

The Doctor meets her eyes with a grin. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. Honestly, at this point — anything to get you out of pyjamas and into actual clothes will suit me.”

“Thanks, Yaz.”

As she disappears back into the dressing room, Ryan turns to Yaz with a smirk. “So, she’s going to be walking round Sheffield in yellow cords and my Grandad’s massive jumper.”

“Yep,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as Graham tugs out his wallet and heads to the counter.

“And you’ll _still_ fancy her — _ow!_ ”

“Sounds like you deserved that one, son,” Graham snorts, as Ryan moves to his side, furiously rubbing at his arm. “Oi — don’t look at me, _I_ didn’t punch you.”

A blushing Yaz waits patiently by the entrance to the dressing room, arms still firmly crossed over her chest. The Doctor emerges a moment later, her plaits a little crooked but still twisted into place, wearing the jumper and her reindeer PJ bottoms again.

“Alright, Yaz — why are you so red?”

“No reason,” Yaz mumbles, taking her arm and leading her to the counter. “Come on, you, let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sweet ones♡,
> 
> I've been really poorly since this morning (headache, been sick, I feel like I've got a temp but no way to properly measure that). don't worry I'm SURE it's not Covid -- I literally haven't left the house, except to walk *alone*, since lockdown began in March. even grocery shopping I'm super careful and wear a mask. It feels like a bit of a stomach bug? but given the circumstances it's obvs giving me anxiety eeeee
> 
> I've written this very short scene for you all because OF COURSE I'm not going to let you get an email notification and then be BITTERLY disappointed. I hope this was cute enough to tide you over until tuesday.
> 
> anyway, I need to take a day away from my screen I think. I was thinking about it and I've posted 2 chaps aka 3-4k words a day for the last eleven days SO ima take 24 hrs break then I'll be back with you on tuesday, providing I feel better! I'm sure I will. 
> 
> in the meantime, PLEASE share this fic with your mates, comment, subscribe, all that lovely stuff. you all know how much it warms my heart.
> 
> so i'm sorry you only get one chapter (and this tiny snippet) today. I promise our story will continue on *tuesday* tho, so subscribe for those email updates and I'll see you then?
> 
> to lovely reader Kirstie and to the anonymous readers who have donated to help me stay afloat in this shit time -- the next chapter will be dedicated to you. thank you so much for your support. I dunno if I can articulate how much it means.
> 
> if you're able to support me by buying a coffee, there'll be a chapter dedicated in your honour AND i'll probably cry because I'm very emotional right now. anyone else get sick and suddenly just want cuddles from their mum even though they're 24 YEARS OLD???
> 
> (maybe I will have to post a little doctor-gets-flu chapter at some point. just to channel my own angst into something productive)
> 
> ko-fi link for those able to spare a few quid: 
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I love you, stay safe, stay home, stay fucking rad.
> 
> your faithful servant,
> 
> Beth ♡


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz has been keeping some things bottled up. (Thasmin angst ensues).
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Kirstie & Lexie -- and all those who have anonymously bought me cups of coffee in my time of need. A thousand times thank you, I hope the world is showing you as much kindness as you've been showing me. I love you all.♡♡♡

“Tell us about where you’re staying, Doctor,” Ryan says, as they sit with their heads tilted up at the grey-blue sky. “What’s it like?”

Their afternoon walk took them up to the hills where, for most of them, their journey’s had started. The field where Ryan learnt to ride his bike, the woods where Yaz was called out to that mysterious object, the country path that Graham and Grace had trekked back over to catch their train. Sloping green hills that crept down to miniature skyscrapers.

They were sitting on the grass, high up on the hill, listening to a light wind that whipped gently around them and birds that sang from trees too far away to properly see.

“It’s like… Earth.” The Doctor's voice is light, thoughtful. “Well, there’s a perception filter on the whole place, so they tailor it to different patients needs.” _Patients_. It’s weird to think of herself as one of them. “Basically, they make the centre look like somewhere you, personally, would feel comfortable.”

“And yours is Earth,” Yaz says, softly, tilting her head to watch her. 

The Doctor meets her eyes with a smile. “How telling.”

“So, if I were to imagine a hospital on Earth,” Graham says, trying to understand. “That’d be kind of like where you’ve been?”

She shrugs. “It feels a bit like a hospital ward on the inside, because of all the white. But there’s a recreation room and a kitchen and I can like, walk around and stuff. There’s a garden. Great garden — loads of fountains and trees and birds.” She sighs, contentedly. “Love a good garden, me.”

They settle into quiet.

“The last time I was here, it was just after Nan’s funeral,” Ryan says, quietly. “Just after I’d met you lot for the first time.”

The Doctor flashes him a sympathetic smile. She won’t tell him that the last time she was here, she was watching him struggle to ride his bike, shortly after Grace’s funeral. She’ll keep that information for herself — doesn’t want him to know she saw him in his moment of vulnerability. 

“Why don’t we go for a walk, just me and you, eh?” Graham nudges Ryan, who nods a gentle agreement. Ryan helps his Grandad to his feet, flashes the two of them a tight smile.

Graham turns, mouth open, to explain to the Doctor and Yaz, but the Doctor shakes her head with a smile.

“It’s fine, Graham,” she tells him, softly. “Ryan needs you.”

They watch the two of them head off, down the sloping hill; Ryan walking slower than necessary to stay aside Graham’s amble. The Doctor and Yaz sit, side-by-side, leaning back with palms pressed against the grass, printing patterns onto bare skin.

“I can talk to you about anything, right?”

The Doctor frowns at the suddenness of Yaz’s voice. “Of course, Yaz.”

“And you won’t get upset?”

The Doctor meets her eyes. “Uh… I don’t think so. Yaz, what’s going on?”

Yaz shifts uncomfortably. Her hair is falling loose from the bun she’s scraped it back into, and her eyes keep flitting downwards, like she isn’t sure where to rest her gaze. The Doctor feels her heartbeat quicken, feels the panic rise up in her throat as Yaz clears hers.

“I’ve been thinking for ages, and I feel like I just need to ask you, and I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Ask me, Yaz.”

_Why won’t she just say it? What have I done?_ Her heartbeats double in time, she can feel her pulse pounding in her wrists. She thinks, with shattering desperation, _but I only just got you back._

“I told you I’d come with you again — travelling, I mean — when you were better, but…” Yaz exhales shakily. “Why do I feel like you don’t want me to?”

_Oh. She knows._ The Doctor swallows, thickly. She’d been thinking about it, she just didn’t realise that Yaz would have picked up on how she was feeling. And now that she _has_ picked up… _I can’t lie to her._

“Oh. You really don’t want me to come, don’t you?”

“Please, Yaz— listen—”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”

Yaz looks deflated, utterly defeated, as she turns her face away. She picks absently at blades of grass, wills herself not to cry.

“You don’t understand, Yaz, I’m…” The Doctor blinks, hard, tries not to notice the heartbreak in Yaz’s heavy breathing. “I’m an idiot. A proper idiot — a real, proper idiot. I can’t be anything you need right now, I can’t…” She sighs, runs a hand hopelessly through her hair. “I’m half the person I used to be — if that. What if you come with me and I let you down again? You deserve…”

“Stop that,” Yaz says, tearfully. Angrily. She spins her neck around to meet her eyes again. “Stop putting yourself down like that. You _always_ do that, but sometimes, it’s _our choice_ whether we choose to be with you, can’t you understand that? I don’t care how broken you think you are — that doesn’t matter. What matters is what _we_ think of you.”

“For now,” the Doctor says, so quietly she can’t be sure she’s spoken. “But everything changes, Yaz, so quickly for me now that sometimes it feels like I blink and everything’s gone. You guys will leave and come back here one day, and I’ll be…” She gestures to the sky. “Somewhere.”

“ _Everything_ changes,” Yaz says, suddenly. “Everything ends. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth _doing_. Sometimes, there’s this look in your eye, and…” She shakes her head, heaving a sigh. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me, Yaz.”

“No, forget it, I—”

“Just _tell_ me.”

There’s something in her voice when she demands it, a hardness that wasn’t there before. The Doctor watches Yaz’s jaw settle into a hard line, watches her eyebrows furrow.

“Sometimes, you look so bloody hopeless that I think you’re going to give up, there and then.” She spits the words out like they’re poisonous, but there’s glimmering sympathy in her eyes, the Doctor can see it. “I just want to _shake_ you sometimes, because we’re, because I’m…”

Her shoulders slump. She can’t keep up the hardness in her face.

The Doctor shuffles towards her on the grass, frowning. “Because you’re what?”

“Because, sometimes,” she starts, again. Swallows, then continues. “I don’t feel like I’m enough. Compared to how long you’ll live — _have_ lived — I’m just a, a… _blip_ in your timeline. I’m just… not enough. It’s no wonder you don’t want to take me with you.”

“Not enough for what? For _me?”_

Yaz blinks furiously, shakes her head. “Don’t do that. That’s not fair. Don’t pretend it’s not true because it is. I’m _not_ enough _._ In comparison to you, I’m nothing. And it’s not fair for me to be frustrated with you because you’re frustrated with life. It’s not fair for me to ask you to keep fighting for a future that I won’t even be a part of. Nothing is fair and I’m _not enough_.”

“Nothing is fair,” she agrees, in a whisper, “but you, Yaz—”

“—Please, Doctor. Don’t.”

“Yasmin Khan.” She raises her voice — she has to. If she doesn’t raise her voice, she’s worried this part will slip past Yaz’s ears, dissolve into the air, temporary. Transient. “You are so much more than _enough_.”

She closes the space between them, twists her arms around Yaz’s waist and pulls her tightly against her chest. Yaz lets herself be pulled into the embrace, brings her knees up to her chest and lets the Doctor wrap her arms around her.

“I worry about you when I’m not with you.” Yaz pulls back, sniffing. “I don’t want to have to feel like that, and I don’t want to make you feel like it’s your fault, but… Those last few weeks — months, even — that we were travelling together, it felt like you never shared anything with us. When I looked in your eyes it was like you were somewhere else.” She loops her fingers through the Doctor’s, squeezes. “You seem like you’re doing better — you really do — I’m just terrified sometimes that you need someone there to look after you. I worry about what you’re doing when I’m not there.”

The Doctor blinks, hard. “I don’t want you to feel like that.”

“And I don’t want _you_ to feel like a burden, so please don’t feel guilty about it, I just…” Yaz takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly through her nose. “Maybe I’m being overprotective, but I just need to be sure you’re okay. I can’t trust you to tell me everything, I know you’re not like that, so I just have to keep… being there. When you need me, and when you don’t. For me.”

“If that will make you feel better,” the Doctor replies, slowly. 

“But only if it makes _you_ feel better, too.” She sniffs again, swipes at her face with the back of her hand. “I want you to _want_ me to come with you.”

“I do,” the Doctor says, simply. “I always want you with me.”

Yaz sighs and lies back on the grass, her head tilted up to the sky — now more blue than grey. The Doctor lies back with her, feeling blades of grass tickle her ears, and Yaz shuffles so the Doctor’s arm is around her shoulder, so Yaz’s head rests in the crook of her neck.

“Why does everything feel so complicated?” Yaz whispers. “What are we supposed to donow?”

The Doctor shrugs, pulling her closer. “We stay here, for a little while longer.”

Yaz cranes her neck, tilts her chin up so she can see her lips. “That’s it?”

“For now,” she replies, closing her eyes. “For now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this was angsty and I don't feel like it -fits- properly with where we're at in the story, but I feel like Yaz has been bottling up some rejection / abandonment feelings and she needed a time and place to confront the Doctor about it. I hope I managed to get across what I wanted to say here, but then again I am writing this with a FEVER so I absolutely take no responsibility for gaps in the character arcs at the moment.....
> 
> Hehe. Yes, I'm still poorly. No, I'm not quite ready to go back to two chapters a day BUT I fully intend to update AT LEAST once every 48 hours, if not, once every 24. Writing keeps me sane and keeps me happy. I'm really struggling with being away from my screen so much but I have to like, kinda take care of myself physically but then ALSO take care of myself mentally by writing.... yano?
> 
> Anyway -- *subscribe* for updates every time I add a chapter so you don't accidentally miss one! I think maybe ten (ish) more chapters to come and then we might be looking at a discharge date and a happy ending for our sweet angel 13 ♡ BUT I'd really like to write a sequel where she navigates life post-rehab without her therapist and reintegrates back in with the fam? What do y'all think?
> 
> Thanks to those who keep buying me coffees, that tiny bit of cash might not mean much to you but -- right now *especially* cos I'm ill -- it has literally meant the world. Last week you guys collectively gave me about 25 quid and I transferred it to a friend who went shopping for me and bought me groceries and coffee and reduced Easter chocolate and I cried with happiness.
> 
> Thank you. ♡
> 
> If you can donate £3 -- here's the link: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I owe you all so much! For now, I can only pay you back with these words. But I'll keep writing them, I swear! I'll make them some damn good words to show you all how much you mean to me. 
> 
> New chapter tomorrow, probably. Thanks for all your well-wishes; you know how much it means. Stay safe, stay home, stay outta trouble. Beth♡


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor reflects on some difficult emotions following her weekend away. Lora receives a letter.
> 
> This chapter is for Max, Lexie, Kirstie, timetravelbypen and all those who have supported me anonymously by buying me a coffee. I hope you know how much your kindness means to me. I literally shed a tear receiving those notifications and kind comments from you all. You've paid for my groceries and taken a whole load of stress off my shoulders. I just... thank you. SO much. I'm sending ALL of you all the love, good vibes and positivity I can muster. Love ya.
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is angsty, prepare yourselves. But you lot asked for this letter last week and you've got it now. It's going to get lighter REALLY soon, I promise. We just gotta let her feel these things first...
> 
> I hope you're all doing okay. I love you.♡

“You said the weekend went well,” Lora says, slowly, as they sit together on their usual bench. “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me the whole truth?”

It did go well. She laid with Yaz up on the hills, she had Ryan’s homemade chilli, she had a perfect sleepover with her fam. But since that talk with Yaz, something has been whirring around in her head, a horrible, horrible thought that repeats itself over and over again.

The thought says, _They deserve better than me._

Sometimes, that thought has a friend. The friend says, _Maybe I’m bad for them._

Because the whole weekend they’d been brilliant. Really, truly brilliant. But she found herself looking at her friends and wondering what their lives would be like if she wasn’t a part of them. What would their lives be like if they didn’t have to tiptoe around their broken friend, fix her meals and find her clothes and keep reassuring her that she's fine?

The short answer: _better_.

“Because you were listening the whole time,” she says, quietly, expressionless. “It _did_ go well, it’s just… complicated.”

Lora hums. “Most things are.”

She sighs. Above them the sparrows swoop as they usually do and the grass is perfectly green and the sky is clear and blue and she feels content but not fulfilled. And she wonders how long she’ll feel like this. Comfortable, but without risk. A life without risk is like… 

_I don’t know. This is stupid._

“You’re more restless today than you have been in a while.” Lora watches her foot as it taps against the leg of the bench. “Are you worrying about your discharge? About things going back to normal?”

“Everything can’t go back to normal, can it?” She snaps, suddenly, turns on him with a viciousness she hasn’t felt since her first day here. She barely notices herself standing up, her shadow casting itself over him. “It can’t go back to normal, because our ‘normal’ wasn’t _good_ , was it? It was dangerous and reckless on my part and I didn’t trust them as much as I should have… Nothing can go back to normal, because normal wasn’t good enough.”

Lora stands, slowly, on eye level with her now. “Nobody is saying things have to go back to normal. That’s something you’ve constructed for yourself out of anxiety, Doctor.” He pauses. “You create a new normal, a better normal, together, as a team. As a family.”

_This team structure isn’t flat. It’s mountainous — with me at the summit, in the stratosphere, alone._

“If this is something we have to do together, why do I always feel like they’re my responsibility?” Her voice is suddenly soft. “Why do I always feel like I have to be in charge?”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” says Lora, gently. “You don’t always have to feel so alone.”

Tears burn at her eyes.

“Don’t I?” The words are hard to choke out. She doesn’t stay any longer; feels her legs carry her away, back across the garden and away from him, away from everyone. 

Sometimes even breathing feels hard.

Lora finds it on his desk, later that day. A plain white envelope, with a name that isn’t his scrawled messily across the front. He knows it’s meant for him, even though it’s addressed to someone else. He sits at his desk, slips his thumb under the seal and tears it gently open.

Her handwriting is spidery. Some of the ink is smudged.

_Yaz,_

_Feels daft, writing this. I haven’t been here long but Lora asked me to write this letter and… I dunno. Felt like I should do it._

_It’s weird this. Me, behaving. Doing what I’m told. Doesn’t really feel like me, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe I should be trying to be less like me. Wait, no. I didn’t mean that. Ah, I’m messing this up._

_Not going to scribble stuff out though, I think this is supposed to be kind of like a stream of consciousness. Or maybe I’ve got it wrong. Anyway. There’s some stuff I have to say, Yaz. You’ll never read this, but that doesn’t matter._

_The last time I saw you, I told you to get off me. I said other stuff, too — told you to live a good life, I remember that bit. I remember everything; the look on your face, the feel of your hand grabbing my arm… Everything. Truth is, I shouldn’t have done any of that. Shouldn’t have left you, shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’ve just been rubbish. A rubbish mate, a rubbish… everything._

_I wish I could see you and speak to you properly. But I reckon even if you were here, I wouldn’t be able to say this stuff to your face. Lora says writing it down will help, but I can’t see the point in it, really. I’m struggling to see the point in being here at all, to be honest. But I’m here, and I can’t leave. Not yet, anyway._

_I miss you loads. Every day. I always think about you. Even little things like having a brew or a custard cream makes me think about you. Ugh, I hate this. Missing you, thinking about you. Knowing the last time I saw you I was a proper, massive idiot._

_I don’t know if you’ll want to come with me again, when I’m out. When I’m better. Probably not, I’m guessing. If I’m being completely truthful, Yaz, I dunno if I want you to come with me._

_Oh, that looks awful written down._

_What I mean is — I shouldn’t take you with me. Because I can’t trust myself not to be reckless with you. Because you’re too important, and I’m too careless, and together, that could be… devastating._

_I almost lost you. I’ve lost so many friends before, Yaz. But I really, really can’t lose you._

_I hope you’ve carried on without me. I hope you’re just living your life, PC Khan; happy and kind and helping people like you always do. Look after yourself and Graham and Ryan. Don’t think about me too much, okay? It’ll make you sad._

_I’ll be thinking about you enough for the both of us._

_Anyway, this is me, signing off, I guess._

_I’m sorry._

_The Doctor_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued messages of love and support. I hope you're all doing okay. I'm doing alright over here in rural Lancashire -- I still have a temperature and now I have a cough as well (stellar stuff, I know, fuck knows HOW because I literally have only left the house for groceries but hey). But I'm okay. I'm alone but friends and neighbours are checking in from a safe distance. And, of course, you guys have been keeping my chin, firmly, up.
> 
> If you're able to, and you fancy making a nice lass cry today, please donate a few quid to help my sorry unemployed ass in this tough time:
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I love you ALL so so much. I'm ready for the Doctor's rollercoaster to start heading up up up now. I know this chapter was angsty, but she's doing SO well, she just has some difficult things to confront. I can't wait for you all to see her discharge from hospital, her fond farewells to the people she's met, the way she embraces life with her fam in recovery. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm babbling. I love you. Thank you for reading.♡


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor prepares for her next visit back to Earth. Lora, as always, has some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, very broadly, dedicating this chapter to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. So many of you have donated to my Ko-fi account and I just can't put down in words how much it means to me. Most of you bastards have done it ANONYMOUSLY (I'm joking, it's fine, ily) which means I can't thank you by name but MAN please just know I love you. I love you without knowing you. The unfailing support you guys have shown me throughout the course of this feature-length-fic has been so fucking rad, like, I don't even know how to say thank you. All I can say is THANK YOU. Even if you're unable to donate and you've just been reading this fic right from the start -- THANK YOU for sticking with me, for trusting me to tell you this story, and for believing in the power of recovery.
> 
> ♡ Ko-fi link: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee

“I don’t need to be alone.”

“I don’t need to be alone.”

“I deserve to be loved.”

“I deserve to be… Ugh, I hate this.”

“Doctor.”

“…I deserve to be loved.”

“Thank you. How are you feeling?”

“Ridiculous, actually. Can we stop with the mirror thing, now?”

“The mirror thing is important, Doctor.”

“The only thing it’s doing so far is making me paranoid about my hair.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

“Looks messy. S’better in plaits, that’s all.”

“Just a few more affirmations, then we’re done, okay?”

“Fine.”

“I deserve to be loved.”

“I deserve to be loved.”

“I _am_ loved.”

“I am loved.”

“I can’t save everyone, but I can take care of myself.”

“I can’t save everyone, but I can take care of myself. I think.”

A smirk. “Affirmations aren’t supposed to sound so tentative, you know.”

“They’re my affirmations, aren’t they? Can’t I decide how they sound.”

He hums. “I suppose so.”

“Please can I stop looking in the mirror, now? I’m freaking myself out.”

“Sure.”

She swivels around to face Lora, her face painted with an unamused glare, eyebrows furrowed deeply in annoyance. “That was useless.”

Lora is sitting in the armchair behind her, unnervingly calm with his legs cross professionally over one another. She shuffles the dressing table stool against the smooth white floor to face him, frowning.

Lora smiles. “That’s what you always say. Only, sometimes, these things turn out to be useful.”

“Whatever you say,” she says, lightly, standing up from the dressing table. She’s back in her white pyjama top today, but she’s kept the reindeer pants. The jumper was just too warm for the sudden heat of the sunshine. The weather seemed to be getting better every day now — _probably because I subconsciously asked it to,_ she thinks, bitterly, running a finger underneath the neckline of her top. _Might be time to ask for a thunderstorm, soon._ “What time do we leave?”

Lora checks his watch. “About an hour.”

“Stellar.”

“And you’re happy just going for eight hours, this time? I don’t want to overload you again. I need to know these family therapies are actually benefitting your mental health.”

“They are,” she promises, meeting his eyes. “I was just a little overwhelmed last time, that’s all.”

Lora nods, wary. “Well, this will be your last therapy alone. After that, I’ll be coming with you to talk with your family and then… Well, then next week, we’ll be talking about q possible discharge date.”

_Already?_ It feels like only yesterday she had another six weeks left here. Now, she’s down to her last ten days. _How did that happen?_

_The time will fly by,_ Lora had promised her on her first day here. 

Another thing he’s been right about.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go yet.” Her voice is small. She sits back down on the stool with a soft _thud_. “I mean, I want to, but — I don’t know. I don’t want to go too soon.”

“Doctor,” Lora says, with a soft smile. “Do you trust me?”

She narrows her eyes. “…Yeah.”

“Then trust that, as a professional, I will know when you’re ready to be discharged, okay? I won’t let you go too soon, and I won’t keep you here longer than you need to be.”

The Doctor sighs. Tries to stop her fingers from tapping nervously against her leg. “Okay, Lora.”

He frowns. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about before you go today?”

“I’m…” She swallows. “…Not sure, actually.”

“That’s okay.” Lora pauses. “I think you and Yaz both have similar concerns, you know.” Her neck whips up at the sound of her name, eyes locking on his. “You aren’t sure about her travelling with you because you want to keep her safe. She wants to travel with you because she wants to make sure _you’re_ safe, do you see?”

“Yeah, I know. I get it.” She sighs. “I don’t want her to get hurt because of me.”

“She will get hurt in spite of you looking after her, Doctor,” Lora says, matter-of-factly. “This is life, and people get hurt, and bad things happen and sometimes _, sometimes_ , you can’t stop bad things from happening.” He rests her eyes on her trembling lip. “But I think both you and Yaz would be happier by each others sides, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “Yes.”

“Perhaps, instead of making decisions based on the potential safety of your fam — just this once, you could make a decision based on their happiness. And yours, too.”

_He makes sense._

_Of course he does. He's Lora. That's_ all _he does, make sense._

“There’s one more thing I want to clarify with you before you head off to get your cup of tea,” he tells her. She smirks at how well he knows her routines. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead.”

“You told me once that you didn’t want to die, you just didn’t want to live,” Lora says, quietly, a light frown playing on his lips. “Is that still true, Doctor? Do you still not want to live?”

“Not forever,” she murmurs, meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to live forever.”

“I understand,” he says, gently. “I don’t think anybody does. I’m sorry that forever is what you’re faced with. For now, though, today: how do you feel about that statement?”

“Today? Today I want to live.”

Lora smiles. “Then that’s what you do, every day. You wake up, look in the mirror, and say: this morning, I want to live.”

“I can do that,” she promises.

“Good.” Satisfied, he stands from the armchair and straightens his trousers with the palms of his hands. He doesn’t bring the notebook in with him anymore. She thinks that’s probably a good sign.

“Can I get a brew now?” she asks, suddenly an eager child as she springs to the balls of her feet, bobbing lightly on the spot. “Quick visit to Grace before I go?”

Lora waves her off with a smile. “Go on, then. Easy on the sugar today, you hear me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm sending my endless love and good vibes to all of you.♡
> 
> I'm going for a drive-through Covid-19 swab test tomorrow (who knew that was a thing?) so everyone please keep your fingers crossed and send allll the good vibes. Sending love and hope and happiness to you and yours, always.
> 
> Stay safe, stay hopeful, CALL THE PEOPLE THAT LOVE YOU, and keep trucking on. Love ya. Beth♡
> 
> ♡Ko-fi link for those able to donate: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand-holding. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken a few days off... But I think I'm on the mend, finally! Thanks for all your support. Sending endless love back.♡

The Doctor blinks, and she’s face-to-face with a screaming Yasmin Khan.

“Sorry, sorry!” She grabs Yaz’s flailing arms and holds her still. “ _Yaz,_ it’s me.”

“What the—” Yaz stutters, fighting to catch her breath. “Doctor, you can’t just teleport right in front of my face.”

“It’s a _telepathic teleport,_ ” she argues back, loosening her grip on Yaz’s arms. 

“Then think about my _flat,_ don’t think about _me_!”

“What if you weren’t in your flat and I ended up doing that to your mum instead?”

Yaz sighs. “You’re right, that’d be worse.”

The Doctor takes a step back, flashing Yaz a wide grin. “Where _are_ we, anyway?”

“Round the corner from Graham’s, actually. I just popped out for a walk before I head over to his.”

The Doctor feels the line between her eyebrows deepen. “Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, course.” Yaz tugs at her elbow, starting to walk again. “Come on.”

The Doctor falls into step beside her, watching Yaz out of the corner of her eye.

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You don’t usually go for walks by yourself.”

Yaz meets her eyes with a soft smile. “Actually, I started walking loads more after… Well, after we got dropped back off.”

“Ah.”

That wave of guilt is back, hitting harder than it has done before. Yasmin Khan picking up new coping mechanisms after she’d been abandoned by the woman who...

_Stop that,_ she tells herself. _Don’t do that._

“It’s fine,” Yaz says, linking her arm through the Doctor’s and tugging her closer. “Don’t feel bad — it just helps, that’s all. Gives me some thinking space.”

“So, you don’t mind me intruding on your thinking time, then?” she says, in a small voice.

Yaz smiles. “Don’t be daft.”

She returns the smile, clears her throat. "So... What are you thinking about, on your thinking walk?"

Yaz laughs.

“Today, on my thinking walk, I was thinking about you, Doctor.”

Her hearts flutter. “Oh?”

There’s a knowing glimmer in Yaz’s eyes. “Hm.”

“What — what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about how important you are to me. About how much I want to help you in your recovery.”

“I… thank you.”

Yaz shrugs. “You don’t need to thank me. You just need to tell me what you need.”

“Okay.”

Their arms are still linked, the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder as they follow the curving pavement round; off the main road now and onto the quieter, more residential streets.

There’s something niggling at the Doctor’s chest. A question she doesn’t quite know how to ask. 

_Yaz said to tell her what we need._

_Do we_ need _this?_

“Everything okay?” Yaz says, casually, dropping the Doctor’s arm and slowing her pace slightly. “You’re quiet.”

_ What would Lora tell us to do? _

_ Just. Ask. _

“Yaz,” the Doctor says, slowly. “Will you… hold my hand?”

“What?” Yaz grins. “Course I will, you muppet. C’mere.”

Yaz catches her hand mid-stride, effortless, and loops their fingers together as they walk before the Doctor even has chance to take a breath.

“I’m glad you’re here, even if you did nearly give me a heart attack,” Yaz says, chatting away like their interlocked hands aren’t making her heart beat double time. “We weren’t expecting you. I don’t know what Graham’s got planned for dinner, but I’m assuming you’re coming with.”

“As long as you don’t mind.” The Doctor can’t stop thinking about Yaz’s fingers locked onto hers, has to keep glancing down at their joined hands to remind herself it’s real. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You? The beating heart of the fam?” Yaz smirks. “Couldn’t intrude if you tried.”

She blinks back hot tears, swallowing thickly.

“I’m glad you asked me to hold your hand,” Yaz says, softly, as a breeze catches loose strands of the Doctor’s hair and blows them in front of her eyes. She smirks as the Doctor fumbles to brush them out of the way. “I mean, sometimes I don’t want to overstep boundaries with you. I like that you asked.”

“It’s not weird that I asked?” she muses, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’m still quite socially awkward.”

Yaz smiles. “You’re not as socially awkward as you think, you know.”

The Doctor smiles at the pavement; at the way their feet seem to fall into step with each other so naturally. 

“It’s nice, doing things like this with you,” Yaz murmurs, letting their joined hands swing lightly between them. “You know, like, going for a walk and sitting and having a cup of tea. Don’t get me wrong, I love the adrenaline-fuelled adventures and life-or-death decisions, but…” She flashes the Doctor a grin. “I like the boring stuff, too.”

“It’s not boring,” the Doctor assures her, feeling a blush creep up into her cheeks. “It’s…It’s homely. All this domestic stuff… I’m not used to it. It all feels so… _human._ ” She quickly meets Yaz’s eyes. “In a good way.”

Yaz laughs, melodic. “I’m glad. I like your human side. As well as all your other sides, obviously.”

Her mouth hangs open at that, as she feels Yaz’s thumb run over her knuckles and the warmth of her smirk beside her. On the rest of the walk back to Graham’s house, the Doctor barely notices anything but Yaz. The neat green lawns are fine, and the sky is blue and that’s alright, and there’s the odd neighbour that walks past and nods and that’s kind of lovely, but still… Still, how is she supposed to notice everything around her when it feels like the beating heart of the universe is standing right next to her.

She recognises the road that Graham’s house sits on; feels a small swell of pride in remembering the brass number displayed on his door. That’s something that feels very human, too — remembering where your friends live. Popping round for dinner.

It sounds so casual.

It feels colossal.

“How long do we have you for, this time?” Yaz asks, as they pause by the gate to Graham’s garden. “ _Tell_ me it’s not just an hour and I’ve wasted half of it making you walk through Sheffield with me.”

“You didn’t _make_ me do anything,” the Doctor assures her. She holds up her hand still attached to Yaz’s, dangles the glowing bracelet between them. “Eight hours, this time.”

“And next time?” The Doctor watches the hope sparkle in Yaz’s brown eyes.

“Next time Lora will come with me.” She swallows, tries not to think about the enormity of the coming week. “Then… I’ll get my discharge date.”

Yaz doesn’t grin from ear to ear or pull her into a hug or exclaim, _that’s great, oh my god, you must be better, now!_ Instead, she squeezes the Doctor’s hand lightly and says, “I’m really looking forward to meeting him.”

Her hearts seem to exhale in unison.

“Really? Because I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to…”

“Don’t be daft, he’s your therapist. I’ve _had_ a therapist, Doctor, I know how much they become a huge part of your life.” She meets her eyes with a smile. “It kind of felt like the world was ending when my sessions with my therapist started coming to a close. If we can make the transition any easier — if Lora can help me and Graham and Ryan support you — then we’re absolutely going to do it.”

“Yasmin Khan, you’re…”

Yaz brushes her off with a playful grin. “Brilliant? Fantastic? I know, I know. Now, come on — let’s go in.”

Yaz swings open the creaking gate and leads her up the winding path to Graham’s front door. She doesn’t let go of the Doctor’s hand when she raps on the wood of the door, doesn’t let go when Graham calls for them to let themselves in.

Their palms are still pressed together when they both step inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I hope you guys liked this little chapter. I just wanted some soft!thasmin and I ALSO wanted to let you guys know that Yasmin Khan is the sweetest softest girl and she has almost definitely had counselling in the past and is very emotionally mature and supportive. That is all.
> 
> I am feeling LOADS better for those of you who are interested in my sad and boring personal life. I had a few really bad mental health days when I was really poorly but LUCKILY I have also had loads of therapy so I am fully equipped with ♡proper♡coping♡mechanisms. I reached out to some loved ones, I put no pressure on myself to write a million words a day, I ate proper meals (fully funded by you ANGELS) that weren't just noodles AND I took care of myself in general. So, I'm a real adult now, I think?
> 
> Anyway, if you're able to -- please donate £3 to Beth's Self Care (aka groceries & rent) Fund -- link below.
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I will update again SOON -- click subscribe / bookmark for updates straight to your inbox for minimal effort on your part.
> 
> Hey, I love you all. Stay safe, take care, CALL THE PEOPLE THAT LOVE YOU, change your bedding. (Honestly, changing your bedding will make the world of difference. Seriously.) Yours, Beth ♡


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz has been keeping a secret.
> 
> ♡
> 
> *This chapter is dedicated to AngelBless and Ellhunt (and all those who have anonymously donated to the Beth Self Care Aka Rent And Groceries Fund). The kindness and generosity you've shown me is a huge credit to who you are as people. I wish I could show you how sincerely thankful I am for your selflessness -- for now, the only way I can do that is by continuing to write this fic and give you the wonderful resolution you all deserve. (Not yet though. Here's a bit more suffering for ya first.) I LOVE YOU.*
> 
> \---> the Beth Self Care Fund: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you begin -- this is a little trigger warning for those feeling anxious right now: the Doctor gets a bit panicky in this one. She's been probably *more* panicky in previous chapters but I'm useless and I often forget to TW things. This is me trying to rectify past mistakes! I'm going to have a read through the whole fic and stick some warnings on particularly anxiety inducing chapters, but until then, here's a little one for ya.
> 
> Anyway, should you choose to continue, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Recovery is never linear. We all have wobbles -- this is one of the Doctor's. If you're feeling anxious -- hit subscribe and come back when I've posted chapter 32, which will give you more of a resolution and probably loads of thasmin cuddles. 
> 
> Love you guys. Take care of yourselves.♡

Graham and Yaz cook together from one of Grace’s old cookbooks. Graham clatters around in a floral apron that Ryan says _really_ suits him, whilst Yaz calmly reads instructions with quiet humour. 

The Doctor watches all of this, cheeks aching from smiling so much. She sits with Ryan in the garden for a while, before they drift back inside with the smell of home-cooked vegetarian chilli. As a light wind shepherds in rain that spits half-heartedly from clouds outside, the Doctor helps Ryan set the indoor table for the four of them. She cracks open the window slightly so she can hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

Graham keeps the TV playing quietly in the background whilst they eat. Something about that small action feels homely to the Doctor; those soft Earth background noises like having the news on whilst everyone has dinner together. She picks carefully at her food. Really, she doesn’t actually have to eat as much as humans do, but it’s nice to be involved in their rituals.

There’s light chatter as they share their meal. Ryan and Graham gently banter about Ryan waking up late and rushing to work in the morning. Yaz asks the Doctor about life at the centre and she gently muses aloud about Lora and the garden and Shelley the house plant. She doesn’t tell Yaz about the panic attacks or the conversations about the future that make her short of breath.

If she knows the Doctor is skipping over the difficult stuff, Yaz doesn’t show it. The four of them laugh and chat and clink their glasses together and the Doctor thinks about Lora’s analogy and how she feels… full.

They finish their meal. Her bracelet flashes to tell her she still has five wonderful hours left to spend with the fam. The atmosphere is warm. Her hearts feel complete.

Until Ryan turns to Yaz and says, oh-so-casually: “Got all your stuff packed up, yet?”

“ _Ryan,_ ” Yaz hisses, shooting him a glare across the table.

“Shit.” His ears turn red. “Sorry.”

The Doctor lets the silence hang between them for a moment. She watches Graham’s mouth open and close again like he’s deciding whether to change the subject or not. She watches the blush creep into Ryan’s cheeks, and then she decides to say something.

“What’s going on?”

Yaz’s face is furrowed into a frown. “It’s fine, Doctor, really. Just leave it.”

_What’s going on?_ Her eyes flick between Yaz, Graham and Ryan, hearts pounding.

“Yaz,” she says, slowly, voice shaking, “what’s going on?”

“I just…” She shoots Ryan a look, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “Please don’t be upset. I just wanted to, I don’t know, have a back-up plan.”

“I’m not going to be…” She trails off, shrugs helplessly. 

“I got a placement,” Yaz says suddenly, keeping her eyes fixed on her empty plate. “It’s more of a promotion, really. Eighteen months with the Leeds Constabulary.” Her eyes flick up to meet the Doctor’s, then back down again. “I’ve got a new flat there; moving out of Mum and Dad’s. Supposed to leave in a few days.”

The Doctor fixes her eyes on her own plate, feeling the humiliation rush over her. Because _of course_ Yasmin Khan hadn’t put her life on hold. She shouldn’t have to. In fact, the Doctor had _expected_ this. That she’d move on.

_She still wants to come with me when I’m better. She told me that._

_But how can she be part of the Leeds Constabulary if she’s never there? Even if I keep dropping her off on consecutive days, her head won’t be there. She’d be out on the force and she wouldn’t be able to remember her training and she could get hurt. Get someone else hurt…_

_Okay,_ she tells herself, firmly. _We’re spiralling._

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to be upset, I just had to… _prepare_ , you know? I didn’t think you were coming back; the promotion came up and I applied. I didn’t even think I’d get it. I don’t want to live with my parents forever and you were gone and I just thought it was time.” She says that last word so firmly that the Doctor takes a step back. Yaz sighs. “Come on, it’s not a big deal. Time is all you have, remember? You can drop me back off _yesterday_ if you need to.”

“You’re right,” the Doctor says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Time _is_ all I have. Endless amounts of it. You only have this life, Yasmin Khan, and I’m stealing it from you.”

“ _What?”_ Yaz explodes. “How can you even—?”

“I’m just going to step outside,” she says, weakly. “Sorry, everyone, I just…”

She turns, heads out into the hallway and through Graham’s front door and down his winding garden path and onto the street. She knows, deep down, that she has no right to be angry with Yaz for making plans for her future. It wasn’t like she’d gone and gotten married or adopted five kids or something but _still…_ Her own flat felt like a huge step. Accepting a promotion was an even bigger one. People don’t just start a new job and then immediately go travelling. Particularly not to… other planets.

‘ _I didn’t think you were coming back.’_

Of course she didn’t. _Why would she? I left her there, told her to get off me, forced her to watch me walk to my death like some kind of martyr. Of course she didn’t think I was coming back…_

She sighs shakily, still walking, still forcing her feet to take one wretched step after another. The rain is falling heavily now but she barely notices the coldness of the droplets on her skin. Her cheeks are burning with embarrassment and guilt.

Embarrassment for assuming Yaz would put her life on hold — slip back into life with the Doctor like nothing had happened at all.

Guilt for… For _wanting_ her to do just that. Drop her human life for… her.

_‘I didn’t think you were coming back.’_

_Stop,_ she argues with herself, feeling the anxiety rise in her chest. _She didn’t mean it like that — you can’t expect her life to be put on hold because of you. You shouldn’t have planned your life around her._

_What’s that thing about eggs in baskets? Or have I muddled up my analogies again?_

The residential road veers off to a public footpath, a canal with a winding gravel walkway, and she collapses to her knees by the waterside. Her legs won’t carry her anymore. Her hearts are beating too heavily, too quickly, and everything feels too much, all at once.

Feet pound against the gravel behind her. Someone pants, heavily heaving in deep breaths. Rain soaks into the knees of her trousers. Raindrops hammer down on the surface of the canal. 

She lets the water seep through her hair and into her skin and drip into her hollow insides. She imagines the rainwater filling up her hearts. Drowning her from the inside out.

“Doctor.”

She doesn’t respond. All these emotions are just too much; all the Doctor wants now is to go home, but then she thinks too hard about where home is and whether home is the planet that burned around her or the people who lied to her throughout her lives or the blue box that carries her around the universe or these people, here, now, who’s time she feels as though she’s stealing from them.

Maybe home is more complicated than all of those things.

“Doctor,” Yaz says again, from behind, her voice trembling. “Please, look at me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this I was like 'uhhh is she massively over-reacting here?' (which is why I didn't post it yesterday when I intended to).
> 
> However, I've been thinking. And I don't think she's over-reacting, not with the kind of trauma she's trying to process. The thing she's searching so desperately for at the moment is the stability and predictability of having somewhere to call 'home' amidst the madness that is her life. Yaz taking a promotion, admitting she had to plan for life without the Doctor, and potentially moving away from Sheffield threatens that. This is a natural reaction, I think, for someone still trying to learn how to process emotional trauma. I hope you guys think so too? 
> 
> Also, as always, I will NEVER leave you on a bum note for ages. The next chapter will be lighter and warmer and with LOADS of soft soft content. Subscribe for virtual cuddles straight to your inbox.
> 
> Thank you for those who continue to donate and who actually leave comments and are interested in my life and wellbeing like???? What the fuck??? People care about me??? absolute madness. carnage. what a radical idea. I love it. and you guys. I love you LOADS. 
> 
> If you're able to donate a few quid towards my groceries and rent etc, the link to Beth's Self Care Fund is below. I don't think I'll ever be able to properly show you how much you mean to me, but hopefully I can repay the favour through heartwarming Thasmin moments? Idk? What do you guys want?? More hand-holding??? hugs??? I'll give you everything.
> 
> ♡ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> You mean everything. Take care of yourselves. Rest. Toast with butter is an underrated food that will help you through this tough time. Chocolate milk also. Calling your loved ones is important. You're not alone. See ya soon. Yours, Beth♡
> 
> UPDATE: I DREW SHIT FAN ART OF THE THASMIN HAIR BRAID SCENE IN C23 HERE YA GO XXX https://thirteengrins.tumblr.com/post/616678909014048768/yasmin-khan-just-sit-on-the-floor-and-let-me


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHA there are no trigger warnings for this chapter but there's no summary either. I just, like, really hope you like it?

“Doctor?”

_How can I look at you without seeing my own selfishness?_

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, now, get up off the floor.”

“I’ve been an idiot.” Her voice is no louder than a whisper.

“You’re not an idiot.” She can hear the desperation in Yaz’s trembling voice. “Please get up off the floor and come back to Graham’s.”

The Doctor doesn’t move from her spot on the floor. She feels her hearts thudding, out of sync, in her chest. Everything feels too loud and too quiet at the same time. There’s an aching inside of her, an emptiness that makes her want to cry.

_Maybe I am crying. Am I crying?_

Yaz lingers, hovering a few feet away like she isn’t sure what to do. The Doctor clenches her fists, feels her nails digging into her palms.

“I’m over-reacting,” the Doctor chokes out, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “Sorry. You can go back to the house, I just need a moment.” She gestures vaguely to her head. “Neurologically speaking, I’m fine, I’m just working on processing some stuff at the moment and this, apparently, was a trigger for me—”

“—You don’t have to apologise to me,” Yaz sighs. “I should be apologising to you.”

The Doctor shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Yasmin Khan shouldn’t be apologising, but she can’t find the words right now to reassure her. Every comforting word she knows in every language she speaks has slipped her mind. She feels Yaz crouch down beside her on the footpath, hears the soft _crunch_ of her knees hitting the gravel.

They’re so close now that Yaz’s knees almost touch hers.

_You’ll get wet,_ the Doctor wants to scold her, _stand up_.

But she can’t dig deep enough to find the energy to speak. She can feel Yaz’s eyes on her face, but she doesn’t look up. The rain pours down and her hair sticks to her forehead and she shivers from the cold and Yasmin Khan kneels on the gravel beside her and refuses to go anywhere.

“I’m sorry, I wish Ryan hadn’t said anything.”

“Were you even going to tell me?” Her voice is soft. Accusing. “Not that you _have_ to tell me everything, Yaz, I just…”

“No, please, don’t do that.” Yaz’s fingers find the Doctor’s knee and squeeze, lightly. “I might not have to tell you everything, but I _want_ to. I wanted to tell you this, I swear, it’s just…” She huffs a short, tearful laugh. “Well, I’ve only seen you a handful of times since I realised you weren’t dead.” The Doctor flinches at the word and Yaz’s grip on her knee only tightens. “It never felt like the right time to bring it up. To tell you the truth, now that you’re back… I don’t even want to go.”

“Please don’t say that,” the Doctor murmurs, tentatively placing her hand on top of Yaz’s. “I want you to take the promotion. I don’t want you putting life here on hold to come with me. I want to keep you with me, of course I do, but I also want you to have a _human_ life, too.” She looks up, suddenly, meets Yaz’s eyes for the first time. “I want you to have both.”

Yaz’s eyes are shining. “I can have both.”

“Can you?” 

Yaz sighs, and to the Doctor, that rush of breath sounds exactly like a heart breaking. Yaz says, in a broken voice, as she reaches out brush a strand of wet hair from her face. “I’ll travel with you for a while, then I’ll come back here for a while. I can do that, I _can,_ I promise you. I want both lives, as long as you’re a part of them.”

The Doctor’s tears streak down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” Yaz whispers. Her hand reaches out, tentative, the same way she’d reached out weeks ago when they’d reunited for the first time. Her wet palm pressed against the Doctor’s cheek. “I don’t care where I am as long as I’m with you.”

“I don’t—”

_Understand._ Only, now, she does, because Yaz’s lips are pressed against hers; so gently that she can barely feel it to begin with. Her breath catches in her throat as she freezes up, only for a second, then falls into her.

_Yasmin Khan is kissing me._

She’d barely entertained the thought that Yaz might be interested in _that_ way. In fact,she rarely categorises relationships in her head like that, anyway. In the Doctor’s head, there’s no _platonic_ or _romantic_ or any other kind of label; more… how _big_ the feelings are.

And, with Yasmin Khan, the feelings are big.

They’re both there, kneeling on the dirty gravel, wet clothes sticking thickly to their skin, feeling nothing but each other’s presence. Somewhere in the Doctor’s mind she registers the weight of the wooly jumper as the neckline starts to slip down one shoulder. But as quickly as she registers the discomfort of wet wool weighing her down, the feeling of Yaz’s lips brushing against her own makes her feel lighter than she’s ever felt before.

She pulls away briefly, her eyes searching Yaz’s for some sign — _any_ sign that she doesn’t want this, but she finds nothing. The rain is visibly running down Yaz’s cheeks, each raindrop instantly replaced when the Doctor sweeps her fingers over her skin.

Yaz smiles, mascara smudged around her eyes, her nose inches from hers, and says, “Is this okay?”

The Doctor twines her fingers around the back of Yaz’s neck and pulls her back in to say _yes_. The word _yes_ suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. She kisses her like she’s the last person she’ll ever kiss again, because that’s all she wants. For Yaz’s lips to be the only lips that press against hers, for Yaz’s hands to be the only ones that hers seek to hold.

Yaz pulls away, breathless, her fingers clutching at the Doctor’s damp waves of hair, and says, “Do you understand, now?”

The Doctor can only hum a reply, nodding weakly, shivering despite the warmth that blossoms inside of her.

“You’re still crying,” Yaz sniffs, swiping at the Doctor’s cheeks with the backs of her thumbs.

“Am I?” She catches Yaz’s hands with a smile and presses her fingers to her lips. “I’d forgotten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this one. It's been a long time coming, right? Thirty-two chapters? 40,000 words? Finally our two soft girls are doing a kiss. In the rain. Soft soft soft.
> 
> This chapter owes special thanks to several beautiful readers. Firstly, to MissMinton (because you said "I want her to be comforted and looked after. She will be, right??" and this chapter is my way of saying YES. She WILL.) Special thanks to steampunkslider for THIS comment that made me think so much about what love means to the Doctor -- "As human beings we try to love well but we're never quite sure what that means; is it to hang onto what you love so desperately that it has the power to destroy all participants with its magnitude? Or is it to remain so emotionally remote that you are able to allow that love to drift wherever and whenever it may throughout your life?" (I just loved that comment.)♡
> 
> And, finally, to CosmicUnicorn, thanks for your request: "Make. Them. Kiss. Thanks!"
> 
> ...You're welcome.
> 
> There's more softness to come, of course there is. Subscribe for these softies straight to your inbox. If you liked this chapter and are financially able to PLS consider donating a few quid to the Beth Self Care Aka Rent and Groceries Fund. The link is below. I love you all SO much for the love and support you show me, a totally unworthy but totally loveable (?? fuck it I think so) stranger.
> 
> Ko-fi link: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> Updates soon. Remember to call your fam! Whether that be biological or chosen! Call the people who love you because you ARE loved so don't let a stupid lockdown convince you otherwise!! Yours, Beth♡


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fam dry off. *Someone*'s caught a cold.

“Well, I think you’re both a couple of donuts,” Graham sighs, hands on his hips as he watches Ryan tuck the blanket over the both of them. “Just look at the state of you.”

Dripping wet through and pink-cheeked with embarrassment, the Doctor and Yaz sit side-by-side on Graham’s sofa, their hair soaking wet patches into their fresh clothes. Ryan had managed to find clean joggers and t-shirts for both of them — and another one of Graham’s jumpers for the Doctor, of course. Her usual one was hung up to dry on the radiator.

This one was a little itchier, but she appreciated the thought.

“ _She’s_ the donut,” Yaz grumbles, frowning as she squeezes dampness from her hair, sweeping it back away from her face and into a loose bun. “If she hadn’t gone running off in the first place…”

“Oi,” the Doctor mutters, frown lines deepening as she settles back onto the sofa.

“Look, I don’t care who’s fault you lot think it is.” Graham’s got his Grandad voice on as he sternly addresses them with a grinning Ryan by his side. “What matters to me is that I’m not sending _you,_ ” he points to the Doctor, “back to that centre with a bloody cold. You’ll never be allowed out again if they don’t think we’re taking care of you.”

“You _were_ taking care of me,” she grumbles in return, heaving a great big sniff. “I just wasn’t taking care of myself.”

“Either way,” Graham scolds. “I’ve less than three hours now to get you warm and dry and fit as a fiddle. Honestly!” He throws his hands up, exasperated. “You two are worse than Ryan.”

“And _that’s_ quite a statement,” Ryan says, proudly.

The Doctor shifts to sit cross-legged on the sofa, her knee bumping against Yaz’s leg as she tugs the blanket up to her chin.

“We’re sorry,” Yaz says, nudging the Doctor with her elbow. “Aren’t we, Doctor?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, sniffing again. "M'sorry, fam."

“What were you doing out there for so long, anyway?” Ryan probes, eyeing both of them suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Yaz says, quickly, at the same time as the Doctor yawns and says, “Kissing.”

Graham's jaw almost hits the floor.

“I don’t even…” Ryan shakes his head with a smirk. “I’ll get you guys some tea.”

“I’ll… help,” Graham adds, leaving a blushing Yaz to dig her elbow between the Doctor’s ribs.

“ _Ow_ ,” the Doctor yelps, pressing herself back against the arm of the sofa. “What was _that_ for?”

“You weren’t supposed to _tell_ them.”

“Wasn’t I?” She meets Yaz’s eyes with genuine confusion. “Oh. Sorry.”

“S’fine.” Yaz sighs, but there's no anger in her voice, When she looks at the Doctor, her eyes sparkle. She watches the Doctor fiddle absently with the fraying edge of the blanket whilst her hair drips dark patches into her jumper. “Will you let me tie your hair back, please? Keep it down like that and it’s only going to make your cold worse.”

“Don’t have a cold,” the Doctor mutters, thickly.

“Have you heard yourself?” Yaz leans back slightly with a smirk. “I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

“I _am_ clever,” she says, defiant.

Yaz sighs, grinning. “Then you’ll know, without having to run _any_ diagnostics with your sonic, that you’ve caught yourself a good old human cold. Honestly.” She rolls her eyes comically. “Call yourself a Doctor, eh?”

The Doctor heaves another huge sniff in through her nose before leaning her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes. “Alright. Maybe I am a bit sniffly.”

Yaz hums her agreements, shifting on the sofa so that she’s facing the Doctor, legs pulled up beneath her. She lowers her voice. “You best get yourself better in no time, time lord. I really don’t want to send you back the centre in a worse state than when you arrived.”

Eyes still closed, the Doctor smiles at the ceiling, head tilted back. “Could never happen, that. Always better off after seeing you lot.”

“Hm,” says Yaz, dubiously. “Maybe you need a nap.”

The Doctor opens one eye to squint at Yaz. “With only — what — three hours left with you guys? Not a chance. I don’t want to sleep away one moment.” She closes her eyes again, resuming her position. “Might rest m’eyes for a bit, though.”

“Not yet,” Graham says, gruffly, arriving with two cups of tea. “You’re getting these drunk first — here you go.”

“I feel like I’m in trouble,” Yaz groans, miserably, taking her mug from Graham. 

“And I feel thirty years older than I actually am,” Graham shoots back, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Worried sick, we were. It’s getting dark _and_ there’s a storm coming in. Would’ve called the police if you hadn’t been on the force, Yaz.”

“Sorry, Graham,” the Doctor murmurs, eyes still firmly shut. “I’m still learning how to properly process emotions.”

“Yeah, let’s call that one a work in progress, eh, Doc?” Graham smiles, but there’s still worry in his eyes. “Next time you need space, just take your bloody phone, won’t you?”

She nods without bothering to tell him that her phone is still in the TARDIS, wherever that is. All she wants to do now is reassure him, so she opens her eyes, takes her cup of tea from his hands and sips gratefully at the sweet liquid.

Ryan hovers in the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eye, holding a plate of custard creams. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

The Doctor doesn’t notice Yaz turning beetroot red beside her.

“Graham was just telling us he’s aged thirty years,” the Doctor says, matter-of-factly, taking another sip of her tea.

“That would make him — what — a hundred and—” Ryan narrowly dodges Graham’s fist, planting the custard creams on the coffee table with a laugh and taking a seat next to Graham’s arm-chair, cross-legged on the carpet.

Yaz meets Ryan’s knowing smirk with a firm glare. “I swear to God, Ryan, let it go.”

“Absolutely not,” Ryan snorts, ignoring Graham shaking his head beside him. “Seems you’ve loads to catch me up on — first, though, you best take that mug before she spills it.”

The Doctor’s head has fallen back against the sofa again, her mug of tea still balanced precariously between sleeping hands on her lap. Yaz gently takes the mug from her, tucks the blanket back up to the Doctor’s chin. She passes the mug to Ryan, who sets it lightly on the coffee table.

“She’s flat out,” murmurs Graham, relief finally setting in on his face.

“Probably worn out from all the snogging,” Ryan comments, shooting a wink in Yaz’s direction.

“I’m a police officer,” she tells him, deadpan. “I know martial arts, you know.”

The Doctor stirs next to her.

“Yaz?” Her voice is groggy with sleep, her eyes still closed.

Yaz can’t help but smile. “What, Doctor?”

“…Weren't you going t'plait my hair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has a cold at the moment? Me! But, my test came back, and I'm negative for the big C, so that's good news! Whatever headache-y head-coldy thing I've got going on at the moment is certainly not life-threatening, but it does mean I am curled up in bed feeling sorry for myself and writing fluffy shit like this!! Graham -- where you at, boy?
> 
> God, it's a thrill to have you guys *virtually* with me in this time of great isolation and weirdness. I dunno where I'd be or what I'd be doing without this fic (and you lot!!!) keeping me grounded. We're working our way towards the Doc's discharge date with Lora and, soon, this fic will be coming to an end... but I *fully* intend to do a sequel following that transitional help-where-is-my-therapist stage as the Doctor re-integrates into life with the fam. Our journey ain't over yet, dudes♡
> 
> Thank you to all of those who take the time to leave comments and who have dropped me donations to help fund my creative endeavours. Some of you know that I write books (lol no I won't tell u my name, it's so liberating writing fanfic kinda anonymously♡) and I spoke to my editor yesterday and we had a really lovely warm catch up that made me feel so much less alone and she really likes my new manuscript so??? Feeling super positive this week. I hope the days are treating you guys kindly as well??? Catch me up on your lives in the comments, you know how much I love hearing from you.♡
> 
> \---> the Beth Self Care Fund for those able to donate £3 ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> You won't have to wait long for another update, but click *subscribe* so that you don't miss a beat. I love you all!! Don't forget to call someone you love today and water your plants!! Yours, Beth♡


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a cold.

The Doctor breathes heavily through her mouth, curled up red-nosed and sniffling in her bed, with an anxious Lora hovering over her. She lies amongst a sea of scrunched up tissues; her eyes raw from rubbing at them with fisted hands, her breath coming out in shallow gasps through chapped lips.

“S’fine,” she assures him, for the hundredth time. “M’fine.”

“You’re slurring your words,” he comments, frowning. “And you’re extremely nasal.”

“Human colds are just viral infections,” she tells him, crinkling another tissue against her stuffy nose. “Typically last one to three weeks. M'body should be able to fight it off in a couple of days.” She promptly sneezes into the tissue, wincing in pain as her stomach clenches. “M’fine.”

Lora hums, unconvinced. “Have you had a cold before?”

“Couple of times,” she tells him, sniffing again. “Last time was when I got dunked at a witch trial but that’s…” She sneezes suddenly, then reaches for another tissue. “…S’not important.”

With a tired sigh, Lora collapses into the armchair, never taking his eyes from her.He watches the Doctor as she wrestles to open a fresh packet of tissues, discarding the other by her pillow. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for you, medically speaking?”

She meets his eyes with sudden urgency and says, slowly, “Aspirin will kill me.”

“Right,” Lora assures her, quickly. “Just tea, then?”

She hums a response, settling back against the pillows. “Hot liquids tend to work, yeah.”

“Alright,” says Lora, resigned. “I’ve got Grace on tea duty.”

“Oh, Grace is great,” she sighs, happily, swiping another tissue at her weeping nose. “Honestly, a few more brews and I’ll be right as rain.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Lora’s voice is low and soft but his eyes are smiling. “I suppose we’ll have to have our chat here, for today.”

The Doctor pauses, letting her gaze fall downwards to the tissues gathered by her knees. 

“Are you going to tell me off for running away like that?” she asks, meekly. “Because, honestly, I feel like I got enough of that from Graham.”

Lora smiles, lightly. “I feel like you did, too.”

“So… you’re not going to tell me off?”

Lora shakes his head, still smiling. “I’m your therapist, not your parent.”

“Really? S’easy to forget.”

She grins up at him, widely, and he laughs in return.

“I”m not telling you off because I’m happy you have people to look after you, Doctor,” he tells her, softly.

Her red-rimmed eyes light up at that. “Passed the test, then, did I?”

“There was never a test, Doctor.” His reply is level, good-natured. “Though, I understand what you’re asking. Yes, I’m happy to release you into the care of your family.” He pauses, pursing his lips together in thought. “We can discuss a discharge date with everyone when we both go to Earth. Which will certainly not be until you are fully recovered.”

“I _told_ you,” the Doctor groans. “It’s a human cold. M’fine.”

Lora smiles, knowingly. “Someone of my profession tends to need a little more convincing.”

She rolls her eyes, sniffling again into her tissue. Lora watches her, waiting for the inevitable conversation, but she isn’t the first to speak. Gently shuffling the armchair closer to the bed, he leans forward on his knees and says, softly, “Is there… anything you want to talk about?”

Lora’s pause hangs between them, expectant.

She huffs a sigh.

“Yaz kissed me.”

Lora doesn’t miss a beat. “How do you feel about that?”

The Doctor rolls her eyes, scrunching up her nose. “You don’t usually use such typically therapist-y language, Lora.”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “Let me rephrase. Did you expect Yaz to kiss you?”

She sighs. “No. I don’t know. I hoped she would, maybe, somewhere, but I’d never even entertained the idea, really.”

Lora pauses for a moment, watching the Doctor’s eyebrows furrow as she thinks. “Is it a bad thing that Yaz kissed you?”

“What? No. ‘Course not.”

“Okay.” There’s a hint of a smile still playing on Lora’s lips. “Is it a good thing?”

The Doctor heaves in a deep breath, exhales slowly. “I think so.”

“Then why is it causing you so much anxiety?”

“It’s just, I’ve been here before with… people I’ve travelled with.” She swallows, thickly. “When they leave, or when I lose them, it’s the worst kind of hurt.” She bites her lip. “The way I feel about Yaz, it’s… It’s hard to explain.”

“You don’t want to lose Yaz,” Lora confirms. She nods, looking down. “But, Doctor, you still wouldn’t want to lose Yaz if you weren’t… together. The way you feel — and have felt — about her hasn’t changed, has it?”

She meets his eyes, warily. “The stakes are higher.”

Lora purses his lips together. “Doctor. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you’re being so careful with who you give your heart away to. It’s self-preservation. It’s _good_ , given that the thing that landed you here, with me, was your recklessness with your own life.” She flinches a little, and Lora lowers his voice, gently. “I do think, however, one must sometimes accept that one’s heart has already been given away. That fighting emotions — particularly ones that demand to be felt — will sometimes be a losing battle.”

She feels tears burn behind her eyes. “Seems like we’re going back on everything you’ve been teaching me, here, Lora.”

Lora shrugs, with a smile. “Love defies most logic and reason, Doctor; you know this.”

The corner of her mouth tugs up into a smile. “Yeah.”

“So, allow me to rephrase once more,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Yaz kissed you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello sweet ones,
> 
> I'm sorry this is slightly shorter than what I'd usually post (only by like 200 words but whatever, I'm British, I have to apologise). I got the edits back for one of my manuscripts so I'm juggling this fic (which, don't worry, I absolutely won't let go of) and the new book. I have literally nothing to complain about because I love writing, however, this is your official warning that chapter updates will now likely be *every other day*. Still, if you subscribe, you'll get updates even on the days that I'm feeling uber productive, won't ya??♡
> 
> The highlight of my day is always reading your comments, so thank you thank you thank you. BIG thank you so all those who have continued to donate to my Pity Fund (it's always changing name but y'all know what I mean). Honestly, it's been such a weight off my shoulders to know that, like, my groceries are covered for the week or whatever. I've had to borrow money from friends & fam to pay rent because my landlord is an arsehole and apparently unaffected by covid (I'll get my revenge dw) BUT it's like a massive relief to know the little things are covered. So, thank you. Honestly, you've no idea how big a difference it makes to my day???? Sometimes I wake up to an email saying someone has donated £3 and it changes the WHOLE vibe of my day.
> 
> If you can donate anything (& ONLY if you're able to) here's my Pity Link: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I'm really excited for Lora to meet the fam??? I promise some heartwarming interactions in the coming chapters. Somehow I feel like Graham and Lora are totally going to get on?!
> 
> On another note: on days that I'm writing it's also lovely to have stuff to read. I've been binge-reading fics by my virtual buds HalfBakedPoet & timetravelbypen -- and if you have written a fic I'd love to hear about it and add it to my reading list? Lemme know in the comments. Thasmin stuff *particularly* appreciated.
> 
> Sending all the love and good vibes I possibly can to you all. Stay safe, stay home, water your plants, call your pals, and don't forget about peanut butter. You can literally always rely on peanut butter. Yours, Beth♡
> 
> PS ♡ Lora is the biggest Thasmin shipper fight me


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Lora head to Graham's for family therapy.

“It’s very weird being here with you,” the Doctor says, conversationally, as the two of them stand at the foot of Graham’s garden, sharing the shelter of Lora’s umbrella. “Have you even been to Earth before?”

“A few times,” Lora murmurs. “Not professionally, though, I confess.”

“What, just for a holiday?” The Doctor smirks, lightly.

She tilts her chin up to listen to the rain gently pattering on their canvas roof. It’s not as heavy today as it was the last time she was here, but Lora is paranoid about her getting a cold again, so she’s let him bring an umbrella. He glances down at her — there’s not much between them, height-wise, but he’s slightly taller — and flashes her a smile.

“Kind of a holiday, yes. I’ve travelled a little bit.”

“Always an enigma, Lora.”

She shuffles slightly closer to him, elbow-to-elbow under the umbrella. He’s watching her, she can feel his eyes on her cheek, and she sighs.

“Come on, then,” she tells him, reaching out to unlatch the gate. “Let’s get it over with.”

“That’s not quite the attitude I want you to have about this,” Lora murmurs as they fall into step up the twisting garden path, feet slipping on the wet paving stones. “This is for them as much as it is for you, remember that.”

She nods as they reach the door. “You’re right, I know. I will.”

Lora knocks, three times.

It’s Graham that answers the door, with a wide smile and a sweater-vest that she _definitely_ would have worn a couple of regenerations ago. 

“Hiya, Doc,” he says, swinging the door open wider. “S’nice to see you.”

“Doctor!” Ryan stumbles heavy-footed down the staircase and appears in the doorway. “Sorry, thought I was going to be late, but I’m not.” He glances down at his watch. “Actually, you guys are early. Sorry.” He grins, meeting her eyes. “Just nervous. Hi, Doctor.”

She mirrors his smile as she moves to step over the threshold. “Don’t be nervous, s’just me.” She follows his gaze to behind her, where Lora gently shakes the rain from the half-closed umbrella. “Oh, and Lora.”

Lora smiles, politely. “Hi, there.”

“Lora, this is Graham and Ryan.” As she’s moving forward, she steals a glance over Graham’s shoulder, worriedly meets Ryan’s eyes. “Is Yaz here?”

“She’s working, but she’ll be here soon,” Ryan assures her, stepping aside to let them both in. When she’s close enough, he adds, “Promise.”

_Ah, Ryan. Obviously knows I’m freaking out._

_No,_ she argues back with herself, _I’m not freaking out. I am… reasonably, rationally… apprehensive._

“How’re you feeling?” Graham asks, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately. “You were a little worse for wear last time we saw you.”

The Doctor rolls her eyes. “Me? I’m fine. It was just a cold.”

“Not used to seeing you poorly though, are we?” Ryan says, nudging her. “Doesn’t half give us a scare.”

There’s a hint of something in his eyes. Truth. As his skin brushes against her forearm, she gets a flash of panic as her often-temperamental-touch-telepathy kicks in. A sudden image of herself, curled up on Gallifrey, face pressed to the cold ground.

_Oh._

_‘Not used to seeing you poorly though, are we?’_

_I get it._

She feels Lora’s eyes on the back of her head. 

“Come on, don’t hover in the doorway,” Graham says, quickly, leading the way into the living room. “I’ve put the kettle on but — I didn’t know if you were a tea-drinking man, Doctor.” He shoots a look at the Doctor, then back at Lora. “Not _you,_ Doctor, but Doctor Mara…”

“The Doctor calls me by my first name, Lora,” Lora explains, kindly, shooting the Doctor an amused glance. “I don’t mind if you do the same, Graham. Perhaps it might be easier to differentiate.”

Ryan smirks as Graham blushes and fumbles to respond, “Yes, Lora, that works. Grand.”

“And, for the record, I am a tea-drinking… man.” Lora flashes Graham one of the reassuring smiles that the Doctor has grown used to. “Thank you.”

Relaxing, Graham heads through to the kitchen, gesturing for the Doctor to follow whilst Ryan takes Lora through to the living room. 

“Sorry,” Graham says, when they’re both alone in the kitchen. “I’m nervous and it’s turning me into a bloody buffoon.”

“S’not,” she says, kindly, opening his cupboards and tugging out four of Graham’s mugs. “You’re doing fine, promise. I bet Lora’s just as scared of you as you are of him.”

Graham’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

She scrunches up her nose in thought. “Well, no, actually. He’s a professional. But people always say that about spiders, don’t they?”

Graham sighs. “Never mind me, anyway. How are _you_ doing, Doc?”

The Doctor takes a second to think on that, holds her breath while she does.

“Actually,” she says, slowly, turning to face him. “I’m a bit nervous, too.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he replies, huffing a laugh as he fetches milk from the fridge. “At least I’m not the only one, eh?”

A comfortable quiet falls between them. The Doctor leans back against the kitchen counter, watching Graham methodically deposit teabags and spoon sugar into each mug.

“Graham?” she says, finally, in a small voice. He turns to meet her eyes. “Yaz is coming, isn’t she?”

Graham’s smile reaches his eyes. “Of course she is, you donut. She promised she’d come right after work.” The kettle boils and Graham pours enough into each mug, adding the milk afterwards. “Yaz would never let you down. She’s really looking forward to this — now, make yourself useful and take those two in, will you?”

Lora and Ryan are sitting at the table when they enter. Ryan’s babbling, pointing out random things in the room as Lora politely nods along.

“That’s, er, a TV,” Ryan’s saying, as the Doctor takes a seat next to Lora, sliding his mug of tea onto the table with a grin. “I mean, television. Plays pictures and stuff.” Ryan frowns at the TV like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Kinda clever, actually. Dunno how it works.”

“Perhaps we should get started?” Graham suggests, shooting Ryan a look.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Yaz?” The Doctor can’t hide the anxiety in her voice, despite the fam’s reassurance. 

“I think we’ll start without Yaz for the time being,” Lora says, kindly, making eye contact with each of them. “It would be helpful for me to have an overview of the Doctor’s family situation before we properly start, anyway.”

Ryan’s eyes light up when Lora says _family_ , and the Doctor notices. She flashes him a smile across the table.

“I want to make it clear before we begin,” Lora says, “that the reason we are all here is to learn how best to support the Doctor in her recovery.” Graham and Ryan nod, expressions suddenly serious. The Doctor feels herself blush under the sudden spotlight. “However, being able to have these kind of honest discussions with one other will mean that you can support _each other,_ as well as the Doctor. Being there for someone during their recovery can be — well, often, much harder than people think. You will all need to lean on each other.”

The Doctor swallows at the sincerity of Graham and Ryan’s expressions. Ryan is nodding fervently, and Graham’s mouth is pressed into a hard line.

She’s seen those looks in their eyes before. At the doors of the TARDIS, as she turns to face them and tell them she doesn’t know what might be out there. On the sandy dunes of foreign planets, after she’s told them she’s made a mistake and put them at risk. In stolen ships, when she has to tell them, once again, that they’re in danger because of _her_.

Every time she asks too much of them, every time they’re made to suffer for her mistakes, every time her actions land them in trouble — _these_ are the expressions on their faces as they stand beside her; united, unfailing, and fiercely loyal.

As she watches them, now, she feels like she’s said to them, like she’s said so many times before, “Fam, I need you.”

The fam, steely-faced across the dining room table, tell her with their eyes:

_We’re not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this one?? Sometimes I struggle to get into a chapter but this one felt really natural and comfortable to write my way into. I wonder if the rest of family therapy will be the same...
> 
> BIG thank you to all of those who have dropped me a few quid over the last few days. I won't keep banging on about how much it means because I'll bore you all to shit but I NEED you to know I absolutely don't brush this stuff off?? I've never had loads of money growing up and I'm so so happy living with the bare minimum (I live a simple life my pals and I bloody love it) BUT it's so lovely & comforting & like this big warm blanket knowing that I don't need to stress too much about things like buying food or laundry detergent for the week? I don't think I realised how much stress I was putting on myself money wise & this whole covid making me unemployed thing is just... ahhh. I'll stop talking about it. I just want to say, thank you. Again. Again & again & again. ♡
> 
> The link's here for those able to: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> Also big up to those of you recommending fics for me in the comments?! Legends. If you like this fic and you're sick of waiting for updates from me (*cough* you should deffo subscribe tho I update every 2 days at a minimum *cough*) then HERE are some USERS you should CHECK OUT in the meantime:
> 
> ♡elektratios  
> ♡timetravelbypen  
> ♡thedriverearist01  
> ♡cosmicunicorn  
> ♡anobii1992  
> ♡halfbakedpoet  
> ♡actuallyme  
> ♡timelxrd  
> ♡paintedviolet  
> ♡silverheart09
> 
> Alright, you've heard enough from me for one day. Let's catch up in the comments (more fic recs always welcome!) and I'll update you all again when I can.
> 
> Take care of yourselves out there. Remember to reach out & call your fam! Yours, Beth♡


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get tense in family therapy.

When Yaz arrives, still in her uniform and damp from the rain, the four of them are already sitting at Graham’s dining table. She leaves her coat and shoes by the door, takes off her regulation vest as she’s heading towards them all. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, smiling sheepishly. She reaches over the Doctor’s seat to shake Lora’s hand. “I’m Yaz — you must be Lora.”

“Pleasure,” Lora greets her, shaking her hand with a smile.

“I’ll get you a brew, love,” Graham says, by way of greeting, already heading through to the kitchen.

“Ah, thanks, Graham.” There’s a short pause, and then she reaches out and places her hand over the Doctor’s. Squeezes. “Hey.”

“Hi, Yaz.”

Blush creeps into Yaz’s cheeks, but the Doctor doesn’t feel the embarrassment. All she feels is relief: pure, simple relief. She should’ve known that Yaz was coming, of course she should’ve, but there was this niggling thought in the back of her head that thought, maybe…

Maybe this would all be too much for her.

Her hand feels suddenly cold when Yaz lets go and moves to sit at the end of the table, between Graham and Ryan, opposite the Doctor. The Doctor’s hand feels the absence of Yaz’s fingers around it like she’s never _not_ known the warmth of that touch.

When Graham returns with Yaz’s tea, Lora clears his throat, ready to begin.

“It’s nice to have you all here,” he starts, with a smile. “So rarely am I able to speak to such a close-knit family unit. The Doctor speaks very highly of all of you.”

_Alright,_ now _I’m blushing. Thanks, Lora._

The fam look calm. Relaxed. She hopes, suddenly, that they’re not uncomfortable in this situation. She feels herself start to worry that she’s forcing them into something they don’t want to do. She doesn’t want to make them feel like that. Not again.

But then her eyes find Ryan's, and there’s reassurance there. Calm, unfailing comfort.

‘ _We’re not going anywhere.’_

“I know the Doctor is feeling apprehensive about moving forward from our time together,” Lora says, glancing at the Doctor for approval, who nods. “I wanted to know how the rest of you are feeling about her nine weeks at our centre coming to an end.” He pauses, scanning his eyes over the fam. “What concerns do _you_ have, moving forward?”

To the Doctor’s surprise, it’s Ryan that speaks first. He clears his throat, even raises his hand slightly like he’s at school, waiting for Lora’s good-humoured nod of approval.

“Er, I guess…” Ryan shifts uncomfortably in his chair, eyes fixed on his mug of tea. “I’m worried about how she’ll cope. The Doctor, I mean. I’ve seen a real change in her since she went to rehab and, you know, met you.” He looks up suddenly, meets the Doctor’s glossy eyes with his own. “We all have. I just don’t want for her to — well, when things get rough again, and they probably will, ‘cos this is _us,_ like… I don’t want you to shut us out again.”

He says that last bit just to her, like suddenly there’s no one else there but the two of them.

Until Lora hums, bringing them both back into the room, and says, “Does anyone else feel like this?”

Graham’s nod is immediate, flashing the Doctor a sad smile as he does so. Yaz’s reaction is more tentative. She looks between all four of them, biting her lip, before she finally says, “Yeah. I’m concerned that when things get… difficult, she won’t talk to us about it.”

The Doctor tries to mask the pang of hurt she feels.

_That’s completely justified,_ she tells herself, gently. _It’s what we’ve always done in the past. She’s no reason to believe otherwise. Yet._

“Doctor,” Lora says, quietly. “Do you think that’s a reasonable concern for your loved ones to have?”

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “Yes.”

“Why have you found yourself shutting out your family in the past, Doctor?”

She swallows.

“I suppose… I never wanted to burden them with… everything.” The Doctor lets her eyes flick up to their faces, then back down again. “It felt like protecting them, at the time.”

“Protecting them from what, Doctor?”

“Maybe from… me.” She sighs, anxiously picks at the skin around her thumb. “I guess I didn’t want them to see me the same way I see myself.”

“So, in a way,” Lora says, gently, “you were shutting them out to protect _yourself_.”

_It sounds so selfish when he says it like that._

“Maybe,” she says, weakly. “I don’t know.”

“Regardless of who you’re protecting, Doc, what bothers me is that you feel the _need_ to in the first place,” Graham says, meeting her eyes earnestly across the table. “I hate that you feel like everything always has to fall on your shoulders.”

She swallows again, thickly. “Sometimes, it does.”

“You know, there’s nothing you could tell us about yourself that would make us run away,” Ryan says, slowly. “Surely y’know that?”

“I do, ‘course I do, it’s just…”

_Sometimes, I_ want _you to run away._

_Sometimes I don’t deserve to have you by my side._

“Yaz?” Lora prompts, gently. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Yaz starts. When the Doctor looks up, she’s surprised to see Yaz frowning down at her hands, eyes full and shimmering lightly in Graham’s living room light. “It’s kind of exhausting constantly convincing someone that you love them.”

“Yaz—” Ryan starts, defensive, but Lora holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine, Ryan,” the Doctor says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “It’s fine.”

The room falls silent.

“I think that’s a really valid feeling, Yaz,” Lora tells her, gently, like he’s speaking to the Doctor, back on their garden bench. “It can be emotionally draining to have to constantly validate any kind of relationship.”

“I don’t mean for it to sound so harsh,” Yaz says, with a sigh. “I mean, obviously I’m not going anywhere. It’s just — convincing her to trust me, to open up to me, to let me make decisions for her, sometimes — all of that feels like a losing battle most of the time. I just don’t know what more I can do to convince her that I…”

She trails off.

_You don’t need to convince me,_ the Doctor wants to cry. _I get it now. I do._

“I understand where Yaz is coming from,” says Graham; always kind, always pragmatic. “It can be difficult sometimes, you know, trying to get the Doc to open up to us. Sometimes it feels like it’s hardly worth trying.” Seeing the Doctor’s face fall, he rushes to expand: “We do, though, Doc, we keep trying. We will keep trying.”

“I know I need to be more open with you all,” the Doctor says, oh-so-quietly. “I’ll try to be. I will.”

“That’s what matters here,” says Lora, his gaze flitting between the Doctor and Yaz, both avoiding each other’s eyes. “Everyone is willing to try. The Doctor, to be more open and trusting of your family, and the rest of you to be patient and unrelenting in your willingness to understand.”

“I don’t mean to exhaust you,” the Doctor says, softly, just to Yaz, now.

Yaz glances up to meet her eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Lora’s eyes flit to the clock on Graham’s wall. “Perhaps it’s time for a short break.”

Graham nods, his chair already scraping back against the wooden floor. “Rain’s let up — we could get a bit of fresh air.” He nods to Ryan, who stands up obediently. “Ry, grab them mugs, will you? We’ll go stick the kettle on.”

Graham nods to Lora with a tight smile, taking his mug, along with the Doctor’s, and heading to the kitchen. The Doctor notices Ryan’s gaze linger a little longer on Yaz before he leaves.

“I might get some fresh air, too, actually.” Yaz flashes a tight smile as she pushes herself up from the chair. “I’m going to pop into the garden for a bit. Shout me when we’re starting up again.”

The Doctor watches her leave, feeling Lora’s raised eyebrows next to her.

_I exhaust her._

“Don’t worry,” says Lora, in a low voice. “Some people need more time than others.”

“I know that,” she whispers, swiping at a single tear with her sleeve. “I just didn’t think it would be her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew that family therapy was going to be a little angsty, right?
> 
> Yo, I'm totally not demonising Yaz here -- we all know she's the most gentle, most understanding little creature. But it IS exhausting to have to constantly reassure someone you love them, and it IS exhausting to support someone through recovery & rehabilitation. I don't think it makes you a bad person for feeling frustrated with the person you're trying to support. I think Yaz is totally valid in the way she feels here (and so are you, if you are supporting a loved one through mental illness, trauma or heartache).♡
> 
> As a general rule, I don't *do* characters that are wholly good, because, like, who is? We're all flawed but that's what makes us so interesting & unique & important. I LIKE that Yaz isn't reacting in a perfect way, here; perhaps the way the Doctor thought she might. She loves the Doctor unfailingly, but that doesn't mean that loving someone always feels good, you know? Sometimes loving someone is painful and hard and it takes its toll. Doesn't mean we don't still do it, though, right?
> 
> (This is just a bit of insight so you all don't think I suddenly hate Yasmin Khan. She's just human. We ♡ Yaz.)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's continued to donate to Beth's Quarantine Fund -- I wrote so much about this yesterday that I won't bore you all but... You're dreamy. Thank you, so so much.
> 
> Link's here if ya wanna: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> More family therapy soon. Yaz doesn't hold a grudge, and the frustration she feels will certainly not last forever. The Doctor will not feel this *hurt* forever, either. Sometimes the healing process is more of a wiggly line, y'know? Highs and lows. This is a low, but then we'll all climb up together. (*Miley Cyrus's 'The Climb' plays ominously in the background*)
> 
> Chat to me in the comments, you all know that I live alone and this is the only social interaction I get these days, right?
> 
> Stay safe, call your fam and let them know you're still kickin', take care of yourselves out there. Yours, Beth.♡


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to tell the truth.

The Doctor slides Graham’s back door closed behind her. Yaz is perched on the edge of one of the freshly-rained-on patio chairs, her back facing the Doctor. She’s hunched over, elbows resting on her knees as her eyes stare vacantly out at the garden.

The Doctor steps forwards, clears her throat so Yaz knows she’s there. Yaz doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t move. Doesn’t tell her to go away.

“This is hard for you,” the Doctor says, more of a statement than a question. She steps forward slowly and sinks into the chair next to Yaz, ignoring the wet that immediately seeps through her clothes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s hard for you, too.” Yaz doesn’t look at her when she replies; her eyes are fixed somewhere far off in the garden, where pigeons scuffle together in a neighbours tree. “I don’t mean to make this all about me. It’s not. I just… I’ve been where you are, you know?”

The Doctor swallows. “You have?”

“No, I mean…” Yaz sighs, runs a hand carelessly through her hair. “I don’t mean to say _I know exactly how you feel_ because I _don’t_ and I hate it when people do that. What I mean to say is, I had some really dark times as a teenager. My family and friends had to rally around me and support me. I couldn’t have made it through that without them.” She turns suddenly, meets the Doctor’s eyes. “But at the time, I felt so undeserving of that love. I brushed off their support because I thought I could get through it on my own. I thought it was _better_ if I did it alone, because then I wouldn’t be burdening them. But really, the longer I wouldn’t talk to them, the worse I felt, and they were right there all along — arms open, waiting for me to accept their help.”

“That must’ve been really frustrating for them,” the Doctor breathes.

Yaz smiles, sadly. “Only now am I understanding just how frustrating it must’ve been.”

The Doctor extends her upturned palm to Yaz, holds it inches from her knee. With a sigh, Yaz reaches out and places her palm on top of hers, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly.

The Doctor takes a deep breath, and jumps.

“When I was a kid,” she says, ignoring the way her voice breaks, “we had this story. A legend, of the origin of the time lords. It was the story of the timeless child: a refugee rescued by a Gallifreyan, a child that could regenerate their body every time they were fatally injured.” She closes her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. “Time lords — their genetic code — it’s _based_ on the timeless child; only, time lords regenerations are limited to twelve times.”

She opens her eyes to look at Yaz, who nods at her, encouragingly. “I’m with you. Go on.”

“When we were on Gallifrey,” she says, her voice breaking. “I found out that I was — am — the timeless child. My regenerations are unlimited, but I can only remember twelve, I… My people, the time lords, they’d wiped my memory, experimented on me like some kind of…” _Animal._ Yaz’s fingers tighten around hers. “I’ve lived so much longer than I thought, Yaz. I’m so much _older_ than I…”

_Everything I know is a lie._

There’s the scraping sound of metal chair against patio floor and then Yaz’s knees are bumping against hers and her breath is hot against her cheek as she pulls her in, wrapping her arms around the Doctor. 

“It’s okay,” Yaz murmurs. “You’re okay.”

_Everything I know is a lie._

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” she gasps, through sudden hot tears that arrive without warning. “I had pieces of the puzzle for weeks — months, maybe — before we went to Gallifrey. The Master, he wouldn’t tell me everything at once, wanted to make me suffer…” She pulls away from Yaz, meets her eyes. “I hoped it wasn’t true, and telling you would’ve made it real. I thought it was just one of his tricks. I didn’t think it would be… Yaz, I don’t know anything about myself, anymore.”

“Okay,” says Yaz, gently, calmly. She brushes hair from the Doctor’s face and tucks it softly behind her ear, keeping her thumb resting on her cheek. “Thank you for telling me, now. I’m sorry you had to keep this to yourself.”

The Doctor takes a moment to heave in shuddering breaths, forcing her hearts to beat in unison, willing her body to calm down. When she speaks again, her voice is low. “It’s hard enough, living _this_ many lives… But to find out there could have been so many more versions of myself — hundreds, _thousands_ , even…” She buries her face in her hands, muffling her voice. “How can I expect you all to keep travelling with me when _I_ don’t even know who I am?”

One arm looping around her, Yaz tilts her head to rest it on the Doctor’s shoulder. “It’s okay that you feel this way. What you found out — that’s huge, and traumatic, and I don’t even know how you _begin_ to go about dealing with it.” She shifts so that her face is inches from the Doctor’s, nose-to-nose. “For you, this changes everything. I understand that. But for me…” Their eyes lock. “This changes nothing. I’m still with you. No matter what.”

And then, for all the brave things the Doctor has done in her _oh so many_ lives, she takes a deep breath, and does the bravest yet. 

She closes the distance between them, and kisses Yasmin Khan. 

She kisses Yasmin Khan with an urgency that pulsates to the rhythm of two thudding heartbeats. She kisses her with all the longing that’s been haunting her dreams for three long years. She kisses her with words that tumble recklessly together: sentences that, when sped up and blurred together carry the weight of just two words: _I’m sorry._

Her kiss is a whisper strong enough to carry across an ocean.

Lips pressed against Yaz’s, the Doctor hears only waves against the shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still lots she needs to tell Yaz, but for the Doctor, this is a start. I think we all know that Lora is subtly watching through the window, right? hehe. Time to head back inside and face the rest of family therapy with openness and honesty.♡
> 
> I hope you're all doing alright out there. If you have 20 minutes today (don't we all?), I found an online suicide prevention course that I completed earlier this morning: I think it's UK based but I'm sure there are other equivalents out there? I'm going to post the link below: honestly, it's super quick, really informative, solid medical advice. This kind of medical training is just as important as knowing what to do when a baby is choking or when someone is having an allergic reaction. Give it a go, you could end up saving the lives of your mates, your co-workers -- strangers, who knows?
> 
> Link: ♡ www.zerosuicidealliance.com
> 
> I'm just here to fill your lockdown with wholesome content folks, don't mind me. For real though -- have a click on there, watch the videos, get a certificate, and feel more prepared. It's free, it's easy, you might as well, eh?
> 
> I'm curled up with a bowl of porridge and my half-written manuscript today. But I painted my nails the brightest shade of blue and it's really making me feel happy? So yeah, that's my day, today. What are you guys up to?! Let's have our daily social interaction in the comments *please*. I love hearing about your lockdowns, and knowing we can kinda make this time a little less lonely for each other through the beauty of words *chefs kiss*
> 
> If you're able to donate to my Writing / Living fund, the link is hereeeee: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> I'm sending all the love and sunshine your way. Yours, Beth.♡


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family therapy continues.

The Doctor finds Lora in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping delicately at a cup of tea. He always looks human to her — that’s the perception filter he’s chosen, after all — but this is the most human he’s ever looked, standing in Graham’s kitchen, mug in hand.

She holds up the wrist that sports her bracelet, sheepishly. “You heard?”

Lora smiles, softly. “I think that was a really brave thing for you to do, Doctor.”

“Which part?” She pulls herself up to sit on the kitchen counter opposite him, leaning lightly on the side of the fridge. “Telling her about Gallifrey, or kissing her?”

“Both,” Lora says, firmly. 

She swings her legs, taps her feet gently against the cupboards. “Suppose so.”

“Regardless of how uncomfortable it might’ve been for you to hear, back in the living room,” Lora says, quietly. “It _is_ important that you hear how they feel, and vice versa. When we go back in there, we’re going to talk about some ways your family can support you when you go to them for help. Does that sound okay?”

She nods. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“I also think you should tell them…” He waits for a moment until she meets his eyes. “I think you should tell them about feeling suicidal, Doctor.”

The breath catches in her throat.

“But I… I don’t feel like that, anymore.”

Lora nods. “Regardless, people who have experienced depression and suicidal thoughts are more likely to experience them again in the future.” His gaze is firm. “This isn’t to say that you _will_ , Doctor. But this is a protective measure. A preventative one. If you tell your family how you’ve felt in the past, they may be more able to spot future warning signs, if necessary.”

“But what if they—” She breaks off, shaking her head.

Lora takes a step toward her, says softly, “Remember what I told you, weeks ago — my hypothetical situation with Yaz in the TARDIS?” The Doctor nods, ever so slightly. “I asked you what you would do if Yaz told you she was suicidal. I’ll ask you again. Would you think any differently of her?”

Tears burn at her eyes. “No.”

“Drop her off home in Sheffield to save yourself the trouble?”

“No.”

“Would you _treat_ her differently?” 

She swallows. “Yes. Only because I’d be more attentive. Check in with her more. Let her know I love her more.”

_Oh. Didn’t say that last time._

Lora doesn’t miss a beat. “I can guarantee the same will happen when the roles are reversed, Doctor.” He finishes the last of his tea, leaves his mug on the kitchen counter. “Do you feel ready to start up again?”

She swipes at her cheeks, clears her throat, and slides off the kitchen counter. “Okay.”

Everyone gathers around the table once more, like school children summoned by their teacher.

“Right,” says Lora, slowly. He clears his throat, then begins. “This is a safe space for us all to discuss our concerns moving forward and how we might face any bumps in the road, together.” He scans his eyes over the four of them, flashing them a soft smile. “We’ve discussed some individual concerns. As the Doctor’s Doctor…” She meets his eyes with a smirk. “I’d like to address what I think the key issues are, here, if that’s okay.”

All four of them nod, murmur their agreements. The Doctor takes a deep breath, tries to mentally prepare herself.

“If we were to break down the key things that I think need to be focussed on, I would say: identity, self-worth, responsibility.” The Doctor swallows as Lora meets her eyes. “These three things — feeling insecure in your identity, having a lack of self-worth, and feeling an overwhelming responsibility to the universe — these are the things that I feel are holding you back in your recovery. Would you agree?”

She nods, feels the fam’s eyes on her. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Let’s think together about how we might help you, as a group,” Lora says. “As a family.”

Ryan raises his hand, despite Lora opening up the conversation, and says, “Er, I think we should try not to lose our patience, y’know? Like, keep being reassuring.”

Yaz blushes.

“That’s good, Ryan, yes,” Lora says, nodding. “Though it’s important that you recognise how you’re feeling and are all there to support each other, regardless of how difficult those feelings may be to hear.”

Now, it’s Ryan’s turn to blush.

“All three things,” Lora continues, “are neatly intertwined. How you feel about your identity, Doctor, that impacts your self-worth, which therefore has an effect on the level of responsibility and guilt you might feel. Does that make sense?”

“I think so.”

Lora nods, hums his agreement. His eyes move around the table. “How are we all feeling?”

Yaz meets his eyes, and there’s a silent granting of permission. A passing of the baton.

“I think if the things you’d built your identity on are… different, now,” Yaz begins, in a quiet voice, eyes flicking up to meet the Doctor’s. “I think maybe we should just help you build a new one. I think who you are — today, right now — I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met.” Her eyes sparkle. “And that’s without you even connecting with that identity. You’re… loads of different things, at once. We all are.”

“This is important, Yaz, thank you for bringing it up.” Lora turns to the Doctor. “Your identity is fluid. But in order for you to properly take care of yourself, I think you need to feel confident in who you are. Like Yaz says — you need to recognise the different elements that make up you.”

“That’s a much more elegant way of saying it,” Yaz mutters. The Doctor grins.

“For example,” Lora continues, “before, perhaps you were a time lord. You are also a friend, a family member, a partner.” Ryan smirks, and Lora carries on as though he hasn’t noticed. “Before, you were the person who would save everyone, no matter the cost. Now, you are someone who will try her best to help when help is needed. You are not the saviour of the universe.”

_I am not the saviour of the universe._

“What should we do, Lora,” Graham starts, an unsure lilt to his voice. “If we notice the Doc… slipping, y’know?”

_Oh, they care so much. They try so hard._

She swallows, thickly, pushes away the thought that says _I don’t deserve it._

Replaces the thought with, _I would do the same for them._

“I think it’s important not to be too smothering,” Lora says, gently. “Perhaps the three of you might discuss your concerns privately, and then one of you could have a chat individually with the Doctor. This might stop her from feeling outnumbered or ganged up on.”

“We don’t have to, like, stage an intervention or something, then?” Ryan says, relieved. The Doctor almost laughs. He meets her eyes. “Oi, I don’t know! This is all new to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says, smiling. “S’new to me, too.”

Her eyes drift to Yaz, who is watching her with quiet admiration.

“Doctor,” Lora meets her eyes, silently encouraging. “Is there anything you need to add to this discussion?”

_Ah. It’s time, is it?_

She clears her throat. She can’t meet the eyes of her fam.

_ Alright, Doctor, come on. _

_ We can do this. _

“When I first came to Lora, I was feeling…” _Suicidal. Say it. It’s not a bad word. It doesn’t have to hold such weight for you. “…_ Suicidal.” 

_Okay, you said it. The world didn’t end._ Even so, she can’t bring her eyes up from her knees, can’t stop picking anxiously at the skin around her fingernails. _No one is running for the hills, yet. Then again, there’s still time._

“You can do this, Doctor,” Lora murmurs, softly, beside her.

A deep breath.

“I didn’t have any plans to… _do_ anything. It’s just, I kind of sought out dangerous situations. I think, after what I learnt about myself on Gallifrey — that I’m… immortal _…” Horrible word. Much worse than the other one._ “Well, I walked myself to my death. I don’t want to live forever — I already feel like I’ve lived too long, already — so I left you guys on a suicide mission.” She looks up, then, meets Yaz’s shimmering eyes. “Literally.”

There’s a moment of quiet. Her heartbeats are loud in her throat.

Graham is the first to speak.

“Thanks for telling us that, Doc,” he says, gently. He reaches across the table, offering his hand to her, and she places her palm against his. He holds her hand, meeting her eyes with a teary smile. “You’re really brave, y’know that?”

“If you feel like that again, you can tell us.” Yaz’s voice is hoarse, but she tries a reassuring smile. “We won’t be scared away. We’ll help you through it.”

Ryan can’t meet her eyes, but he nods. “Whatever it takes.”

Her gaze lingers on Ryan a little longer. _Is he…?_

“Yaz, Graham, perhaps we could talk separately,” Lora says suddenly. He gestures to the both of them. “Shall we pop out for a moment?”

“Ryan and I can step outside,” the Doctor jumps in, eyes fixed on Ryan. “You guys stay here. Right, Ryan?”

Ryan’s head stays bowed. He doesn’t respond, only stands up and makes his way to the back door, sliding the door open and heading through into the garden.

The Doctor meets Graham’s worried eyes, squeezes his hand once then lets go. 

“I’ll talk to him,” she promises, standing up. “It’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, okay, you see right through me; I'm giving the doc time alone with each member of the fam to clear the air. I mean, we've not got loads of this fic left (I know, don't hate me, you guys know I'm already working on sequel material) so I wanna make sure we've had all the raw emotional heartachy vulnerable moments we can.
> 
> as always, it's a pleasure chatting to you all in the comments. we truly have a fam of our own over here. I'm so thankful to have you all? like, without being a total dork... my heart is just super full. I'm really glad I started writing this fic. you guys are just... really spectacular humans.♡
> 
> *clears throat* so, uh, anyway, if you liked this chap and wanna buy a coffee for this --huge sap--... here's the link: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> have you guys picked up any weird lockdown routines? I have this thing about switching the radio on as soon as I wake up now. I think it started as an anxiety thing cos I'm alone and it's nice to have other people's voices, but now I just... really dig local radio?
> 
> if you've doubted yourself today, you're doing just fine. given the circumstances, you're actually doing a stellar job. don't beat yourself up. call your loved ones. watch something nostalgic**. take a deep breath. yours, Beth♡
> 
> ** did you know they've put Drake and Josh AND The Sleepover Club on Amazon prime?? (I have a free trial and I'm buzzing). This kind of late nineties / early noughties nostalgia is what I live for.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan opens up to the Doctor.
> 
> Trigger warning: discussions of suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering why it’s been a few days — my sister bought me the sims 4 strangerville expansion pack and it kind of consumed my life for a second there. You know how it is. Anyway, normal service resumes. Phew. ♡

“Ryan—”

“Why didn’t you say that you felt like that?”

The door slides shut behind her and she jumps at the loudness of it. He’s not facing her; he’s looking out onto the garden, hands shoved into his pockets because he doesn’t know where else to put them. She wants to reach out and put her hand on his: feel that telepathic rush of clarity, understand exactly what’s going in his head.

But she won’t. She hasn’t told Lora about the telepathy — it only seems to work when it feels like it, anyway, so she doesn’t see the point — but she’s sure if she had that he’d say it isn’t the way to solve this. Communication is key. Preferably, verbal.

“Well, I didn’t realise that I _did_ feel like that _._ ” She steps forward, voice shaking. “It’s only when I started talking to Lora — when I started really _analysing_ …” She pauses,watching the back of his head, watching his shoulders rise and fall as he heaves in short angry breaths. “Are you angry with me?”

He turns slightly towards her, but he can’t meet the look on her face. He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply through his nose. “I know you want me to say no.”

“No,” she says, firmly, though her heart thuds quickly in her chest. “I want an honest answer. You’re allowed to be angry.”

“I don’t want your permission,” he says, turning suddenly to look at her. “I want you to… I don’t know. I don’t want you to ever do that, Doctor.”

“Do what?”

“ _Kill_ yourself _._ ”

She swallows, thickly. Hot tears burn at her eyes. “I wasn’t going to…”

“You were,” he argues, quietly, eyes open now and locked on hers. “You tried.”

She lets her gaze fall to the floor, scuffs her feet absently against the paving stones.

“Technically, I would argue that it was almost subconscious,” she says, quietly, scientific brain kicking in. “It was potentially a reaction to trauma that I didn’t quite realise would materialise itself in that…”

“It terrifies me,” Ryan interrupts, “that ending your life wasn’t something you even _realised_ you were thinking about.”

She sighs. 

_He’s right._

“When Nan died,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I saw her everywhere. Still do. I see her in Grandad, and in every little lad riding a bike down the street, and in the birds, and stupid frogs…” He shakes his head, presses a hand to his forehead in frustration. “What about if that was you, eh? Where d’you think I’d see _you_?”

She doesn’t interrupt, can’t think of anything to say even if she wanted to. Her chest feels tight and heavy at the same time. It almost hurts to look at him.

“I’m telling you, Doctor, if you died… I’d _never_ be able to move on. Because you’re not just in the sky, or the stars, or the enormity of the universe — you’re in things as small as a packet of fucking biscuits.” His eyes sparkle with tears. “Everything would remind me of you — everything _did —_ for those six months we thought you were gone, and d’you know what I was like?” He meets her eyes but she doesn’t respond. Can’t. “I was empty. I couldn’t understand how someone so _full_ of memories could feel so bloody hollow all of the time.”

Her mouth opens and closes, uselessly. As though he’s suddenly realised the loudness of his own voice, Ryan seems to shrink back into himself; hands dug back into pockets, head hanging low shamefully.

“You’ve never told me that before,” she whispers.

He shrugs. “Couldn’t risk losing you again.”

_Oh, Ryan Sinclair._

“I’ve let you down,” she says, brokenly, “in so many ways. But I won’t anymore. I swear.”

Ryan exhales, shakily. Their eyes meet, and his expression is softer this time.

“I’m just scared,” he says, simply. “That’s all.”

The Doctor’s voice is small. “About what?”

“‘Bout a world without you in it.” He clears his throat, but his bottom lip quivers. “For loads of reasons; because you make the universe better, because people depend on you, because you’re brave and mad and stupid… loads of reasons.” He swallows. “Mostly, though, selfishly — ‘cos I need you.”

“Ryan, I—” She brushes tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. Her voice breaks. “Don’t ever think that’s one-sided, okay? I need you lot just as much, I promise.”

“I love you,” he says, firmly, suddenly, ignoring the blush that creeps into his cheeks. “You’re family. I’ve already lost the most important woman that I… I don’t want you to think that you can just…”

The Doctor steps forward and wraps her arms around his waist, pressed her head against his chest. He tenses slightly at first, like he isn’t sure, but then he sighs and his arms close around her and his chin rests on the top of her head. He dwarfs her when they hug like this, towering over her small body.

She flinches suddenly as the bare skin of her wrist brushes against Ryan’s forearm and she gets a hot red flash of his pain, of his guilt, of his loss. She ignores the fresh tears that spring to her eyes and clings tighter to his chest, feeling his heartbeat like it’s her own.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I love you guys, too. I’m sorry.”

“You have to tell me.” His voice is muffled, lips pressed into her hair. “Please tell me, even if you’re feeling a _little_ bit wobbly, bro, even if you aren’t sure you should be worried at all, just _tell_ me…”

“I will, Ryan. I promise.”

His shoulders sag in relief. His whole body seems to say, _thank you_.

“Grace would be so proud of you,” she whispers. “I know I didn’t know her for long but, y’know, I’m a little bit telepathic.” She pauses, holds him tighter. “Her kindness radiated from her. It radiates from you, too.”

He pulls away to face her, reaches out to tuck hair back away from her face in a way he hasn’t ever done before.

“Travelling with you — and with Grandad, that’s…” He swallows, swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s what she woulda wanted. If anything happens to you or him — or Yaz — I don’t… I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Then don’t,” she murmurs, taking his hand in hers and holding it tightly. “I’m going to be back with you guys really soon. We’ll all be together again and, this time, I’ll make sure we’re all safe.”

He huffs a sniffly laugh. “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” she promises. “I can’t lose you.”

His smile fades. “You can’t wrap us in bubble wrap either. We all need to learn how to look after each other without, y’know…”

She hums an agreement, eyebrows furrowed. “Never did like bubble wrap, really.”

“Me neither.”

As if they’ve suddenly exchanged an unspoken agreement, the two of them turn and head slowly back towards the back door. They pause at the window, hovering there, just before the closed door.

“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” He peers through the glass at Graham and Yaz, sitting together with Lora, faces solemn. “I mean, everything will be alright in the end, won’t it?”

Her fingers find his, looping their hands together as they watch their family through the window.

The Doctor tilts her head to meet his eyes. “Don’t be daft. ‘Course we will, Ryan Sinclair.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fam have some new dynamics to establish. One thing that we don’t discuss enough post-therapy is how difficult it can be not to coddle your loved one once you know what they’ve been struggling with. You all have to find your footing again, re-establish boundaries, talk about your feelings constantly — even when they’re ugly, even when you’re exhausted. 
> 
> Particularly in this situation, all four of the fam are struggling and desperate to help one another, but we all know there’s no Doctor without her crazy dangerous adventure-fuelled lifestyle. She *will* get back to that, and the fam will have to let her, and she’ll have to trust herself with their lives in her hand again. 
> 
> God, emotions, eh?
> 
> Also, YES Ryan is absolutely still seeking reassurance from the Doctor in his “We’ll be okay, won’t we?” I’ve always loved their relationship because he is so clearly like “She’s in charge, she makes the rules” etc but then he can so easily flit to, like, “Nah, you’re a dumb old alien and you can’t talk to me that way.” Aka, how I used to treat my mum (still do?) as a teenager. The Doctor is his Pal but let’s be real here, she also gives him big Mom vibes, too.
> 
> I hope you guys are all doing well. I’ve had a few days off — as you are all aware — and I have literally done nothing but play sims. Oh, and one of my sister’s had a birthday, so that was nice! If I haven’t responded to your comment please know I’m getting round to it — I’m an idiot and I don’t keep on top of them and then I have like 50 and I get overwhelmed. I love you all though!!! So, so much.♡
> 
> Anyway, I know this chapter was a little heavy — there are some *stellar* who crack videos on YouTube so I would whole-heartedly suggest you immerse yourself in something light-hearted now to ease the pain. Preferably with a brew and a plate of custard creams.
> 
> As always; you have my thoughts, my prayers, and my whole fuckin heart. Keep in touch. Yours, Beth ♡
> 
> Ko-Fi link for those who liked the chapter and fancy buying me a brew: ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee


	40. author note

hiya angels!!♡

this is just a note to let you all know that I *haven't forgotten* about this fic. I've been working with my agent & editor on edits for my manuscript and I had to work really hard for a few days to smash everything out. proud to say edits were finished THIS MORNING and sent off via email and then on WEDNESDAY we'll be on submission to publishers again so *yay*, I'm very excited. particularly if a publisher wants to buy my book and I'll be able to tell you guys about it hahaha that would be rad.

anyway, I'm back. sorry for that short hiatus, I hope you've all been surviving & taking care of each other.

I'm taking a break for the rest of the day and then I'm hoping to publish another chapter tomorrow evening / early monday morning (GMT). I'm excited to get writing this again -- my manuscript is YA but a little heavy in places and I just... ah, I love skulking back to these characters and wrapping them up in blankets and feeeding them teeeeaaa...

I'm thrilled that random burst of work is done, and I'm thrilled to be posting here again.

I hope you can all wait a tiny bit longer for a good ol' update...

I love you!! all!! so much!!!

Yours, Beth xx

p.s. as a sidenote: I've moved back home. still paying rent in my flat, but since my family and I have all been isolating just separately and none of us have symptoms or are high risk... I've moved back in. I dunno if that's sensible or not?? but we're all ok, I'm ok, I'm now back with my four (4) younger sisters, my mum, her partner, and their pets. it's a loud house but I think I needed to not be alone for a little while??? the anxiety of like, 'what happens if I'm ill on my own will I just die and no one will know' etc etc was a bit too much.

I know some people don't have the privilege of living less than an hour away from their parents, and so I kind of feel really conflicted and like I *should* have just stuck it out because i might have not seen another human face since march but everyone else is in the same boat and managing okay???? I'm in idiot????

but I also looked out for my mental health, so a minor victory?

sorry, brain vomit. I LOVE YOU ALL . This is my life. Catch me up in the comments; god, i've missed you.

♡♡♡

mum's buying my groceries now hahaha but if you're able to -- ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve become such huggers,” Ryan says, a hint of complaint in his voice, even as its muffled by the Doctor’s hair against his lips. “Proper softies, us, like. When did that happen?”

More tea.

_They love that, humans. Brits, mostly._ Northern _brits, even more so._

She knows that much. She’s been Northern before; a little seedling of identity that she carries with her, no matter what accent she regenerates into.

_Cup of tea in a crisis, that’s always the first port of call._

_There’s rarely anything a cup of tea can’t fix._

“Tea?” Graham says, interrupting her brain as it whizzes off on a tangent again. He comes back into the living room carrying two mugs, closely followed by Lora, who couldn’t look more out of place juggling tea with his tongue sticking out in concentration. “Here ya go, Doc.”

The Doctor shifts to sit cross-legged on the sofa, taking the tea from Graham.

_What is it about tea?_

_Because it’s not just all hot liquids, I know that much._

_Coffee isn’t nearly as comforting._

“Doctor?” Yaz says, gently, under her breath. “You okay?”

Everyone else is shifting furniture; pulling the armchair closer to the sofa, scraping kitchen chairs across the carpeted floor. Yaz is already sitting next to her, a cushion on her lap, legs tilted towards the Doctor and back pressed against the arm of the sofa.

The Doctor raises her eyebrows. “Just thinking about tea, actually.”

Yaz smiles. “Okay.”

Lora clears his throat and starts to talk. _He’s good at that,_ the Doctor thinks, suddenly, _knowing exactly the right moment to start speaking — being able to seamlessly slip into a conversation._

_It’s his job, but still. It’s impressive._

“I think we should speak openly for a second about inadequacy.” Lora’s voice is as it usually is; firm, reassuring, gentle, all at the same time. The Doctor feels her shoulders tense and then relax. She doesn’t know how to feel.

“Inadequacy?” prompts Ryan, as Lora’s eyes scan over each of them.

“Yes,” Lora says, with a confirming nod. “I think it’s something that every one of you feels in the relationships you hold. Feelings of inadequacy span far beyond the human race, you know — though, often times, you might feel it most deeply.” He meets the Doctor’s eyes with careful subtlety. “Most species struggle with feeling… less than. Not enough. Doctor, how do you feel about the word inadequacy?”

“Sometimes…” The Doctor’s voice cracks, and she has to swallow and start again. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not enough, but too much at the same time. I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Lora says, gently.

“Me too,” murmurs Yaz beside her.

The Doctor looks down into her mug.

“Could you expand on those feelings, Doctor?” Lora asks. “Too much, but not enough.”

She clears her throat, as if that will help.

“Well, it’s like… I love having the gang around, impressing them with all the extraordinary things the universe has to offer — sometimes I’m _so_ excited to show them things that I’m chaotic, I know I’m chaotic, I’m too much for them and in the moment I can hardly tell but sometimes…” She takes a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not much outside of that. The crazy adventures — that chaos inside of me that drives the wild things to happen. When I slow down and I’m just… _me,_ I’m… not enough.”

The room is quiet. She swears she can hear their heartbeats — all of them — beating in imperfect time, one after another.

Lora says, “Would anyone like to respond to the Doctor’s emotions?”

She stares into the tea a little while longer. 

It’s Yaz who breaks the silence.

“I have hundreds of great memories with you.” Yaz’s knee bumps against her own. “Some of those are the times we’ve like, sat on top of the TARDIS in the middle of galaxies I’ve never heard of, or watched new stars being born… But most of the moments are just… you being you. Picking out outfits, watching the sunrise on my parents balcony… y’know.”

“Yaz’s right,” Ryan adds, with a shrug. The Doctor looks up to meet his eyes. “S’not the _stuff_ we do together that really sticks in my mind. It’s the fact that we’re all doing it together. Y’know, as a family.”

Lora smiles. “Graham, what do you think?”

Graham nods. “I think, despite all I’ve learnt, I could still tell you more about the Doctor’s infantile sense of humour than I could the nineteenth century — and we’ve been there a few times, now.” The Doctor blushes, grinning. “It’s the people, innit? Doesn’t matter what you’re doing with ‘em.”

They talk a while longer after that. The Doctor banks every word said in her memory, willing herself to remember every honest moment, every anxious heartbeat, every loving glance. Every coping mechanism, every piece of advice, and every time the fam look over to her with so much love in their eyes she’s almost surprised they haven’t burst.

They talk about everything.

She knows bits of the day will fade from her memory. _That’s the trouble with living forever,_ she thinks, sadly, _where am I supposed to put it all?_

Forever takes up loads of space in a person’s mind.

_But,_ she supposes, on second thought, _that’s where the fam come in._

Four brains are better than one, after all.

“Communication,” says Lora, in conclusion, “I think we’ve all learnt, is key.”

They haven’t moved from their positions — only to get comfier. Yaz’s foot is now tucked slightly under the Doctor’s thigh, her elbow resting on pulled-up knees. The Doctor is still cross-legged but slouchier now on the sofa, a pillow held against her tummy. 

“I think,” Lora continues, “if you remember that, and are open and trusting with each other, even when it’s hard—” He meets the Doctor’s eyes. “— _Especially_ when it’s hard — then there’s nothing you can’t get through, together.”

The Doctor beams at that. She can’t help it.

_Because it’s true, isn’t it?_

_After all this time, it must be._

Because sometimes moments can seem fleeting; and if she allows herself to think too long on the prospect of forever, then _everything_ feels fleeting. Nothing feels worth it, whatever ‘it’ is. 

But these humans — they can sit here, facing far less time on this Earth than they deserve — they can sit here, and they can say, happily, that they want to spend that time with her. They grieved her for months when she was gone. They forgave her for everything she’s ever done to hurt her. They are sitting here, right now, listening and talking and loving her.

Just… loving her.

_Even when it’s hard —_ especially _when it’s hard._

That’s when you look to your family.

Lora is standing up. He’s probably said something quite definitive whilst she’s been drifting off in her brain, because Yaz’s fingers are intertwined in hers all of a sudden and Graham is standing up and shaking Lora’s hand and _just like that_ someone has pressed play on the remote control and lurched them all into fast forward.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you all,” Lora says, with a smile. “Truly. You won’t be seeing me again, but you can expect the Doctor back with you all very soon.”

“Very soon, as in…” Ryan prompts, shifting feet nervously.

Lora’s smile widens. “For you, perhaps four days.” He flashes the Doctor a look. “For us, it will be tomorrow.”

_Tomorrow._

_This all seems to have gone so quickly._

_But so slowly, at the same time._

“You okay?” Yaz says, softly. 

The Doctor untangles herself from a blanket she doesn’t remember getting and stands up, her hand still attached to Yaz’s. Yaz stands with her. Without verbal negotiation, everyone is making their way towards the front door. Lora is taking his umbrella from the stand where he left it; shaking it off, peering out at the persistent grey weather and shrugging defeatedly.

Yaz let’s go of the Doctor’s hand so Graham can pull her into a tight hug.

“I’m proud of you, cockle,” he says, gruffly, into her ear. She lets his voice fill her up with warmth; lets his embrace ground her right here, in the present. “Can’t wait to have you back. Truly.”

She pulls away, holds his eyes with hers as she grins. “Can’t wait to be back, Graham.”

“Oi, give us a turn.”

Ryan gently pushes his Grandad to the side and takes the Doctor into his arms in a bone-crushingly tight hug. She laughs as he hugs her, and Ryan can feel every ripple of it through her body.

“We’ve become such huggers,” Ryan says, a hint of complaint in his voice, even as its muffled by the Doctor’s hair against his lips. “Proper softies, us, like. When did that happen?”

“Shurrup,” the Doctor scolds, affectionately. 

Graham clicks the front door open as Ryan lets go and steps back. The smell of rain rushes in; that freshly-wet concrete and damp grass all mingled up together. Yaz’s fingers find hers, again. They lock together. She turns to face her.

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” Yaz says, under her breath, eyes fixed on the Doctor’s.

She frowns, pointedly looking over at Ryan, Graham and Lora, and saying, loudly: “I thought you said _not_ to tell the others that we’d been kissing.”

Yaz flushes pink. “Oh my _god._ You’re literally the worst.”

The Doctor leans forward and kisses her anyway.

“Thanks for asking,” the Doctor murmurs, pulling away with a suddenly shy smile. “It’s nice when you ask.”

“S’okay.”

Graham and Lora are pointedly trying not to add awkwardness to the situation, but Ryan doesn’t hide his eavesdropping. He says, with a good-humoured snort, “You guys are the lamest and I love it.” 

“Shut _up,”_ Yaz groans. “I can’t _believe_ we’ve just had all that therapy and I barely spoke to Lora about _you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK YEAH it's one a.m. here in the UK so my UK fam will get a stupid notification at stupid o clock but who the fuck cares what is time anymore?? also I had to write myself out of a bit of a writer's block so I just had to let the words come and now I have to post them without edit because sometimes ya gotta ~trust the process~
> 
> I'm going to reply to all of your lovely comments in the morning when I've had some proper rest, but y'all know I love and appreciate the shit out of you. things are kind of weird here with my family? my mum and her partner aren't getting on tons (lockdown stress??) and my step-sister is behaving awfully and I have a sister with autism who isn't handling being cooped up / shitty step-sister / folks arguing. it's just a bit stressful so writing has not been a priority but writing makes me happy so I've bene sad so BASICALLY it's a vicious cycle that I'm trying to break now by writing again. a little bit, every day, when I can.
> 
> is anyone else finding doing nothing really anxiety inducing???
> 
> on the plus side, an old agency I used to teach creative writing with in oxford have hired me again on a short contract to teach some one to one writing tutor things virtually which is great? that'll start in a couple of weeks and it's just 2 hrs a week which is nice. that's something to look forward to!! I am a very ~sad gal~ at the moment and I'm just blaming it on lockdown and hoping it will go away soon.
> 
> anyway. i forgot how much i love writing this. it makes me happy. you all make me happy.♡
> 
> sending big love and cuddles. rant to me!!! i wanna hear about all the shit you're feeling and I want to hear about the happy stuff too. I basically just want human interaction and socialisation. I care about you all. I hope you're doing okay and IF NOT -- do you have any houseplants??? are you aware of how great having a houseplant is???
> 
> all the love, guys. all the love. beth♡♡♡
> 
> p.s. dropping the ko-fi link here for all those able to buy lil bro over here a coffee but if you're skint like me *ignore it ily*  
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> p.p.s i dyed my hair blue


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her last day at the facility, the Doctor reflects on her time with Lora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all deserve this slightly longer chapter. Sorry for the cheeky hiatus -- things have been busy my end. But I still love you all just as much. NOW, who's ready for some heartwarming Recovery™ ?????

In the garden, the birds are in full song. The other patients wander; some accompanied by staff, some lounging together by the fountains, on the benches. The Doctor walks slowly, alone, towards the thick row of trees lining the garden.

It takes time to reach the first tree. When she turns to look back, the wind catching lightly in the loose waves of her hair, the building behind her is small. Red bricks, cobbled footpaths. Lead criss-crosses decorating wide windows. The whole place feels like Earth. She sticks a finger in her nose suddenly, sticks out her tongue at the same time.

_Hm,_ she thinks, with a smile. _Tastes like Earth, too._

She turns back towards the tree, walks through the first row to the second, then the third. _Should be around here somewhere._ The lining of the trees is too perfect; even the curve of their branches is too symmetrical. She knows this is calculated, this design, and finding what she wants won’t make any difference, but she needs to do it anyway.

Needs to remind herself this isn’t really Earth.

Because right now, she just wants to stay.

The Doctor keeps on, slowly, past the first few rows of trees, her right hand extended in front of her. Her feet crunch and snap over the woodland floor of branches and twigs. _Come on, can’t be too far off now…_

_Aha._

Her hand comes into contact with it before she notices the slight shimmering in the sunlight. She presses her palm into the invisible wall, watches it ripple. 

_There we go._

She squashes her nose up against it like a child looking out of a window, but beyond where she’s standing, there’s just the same patch of woodland replicated again and again. A sigh escapes her lips, relief sagging her shoulders.

_It’s not real._

That thought makes her breathless. She turns back towards the building, presses her back against the invisible shimmering wall and lets herself slide down to the forest floor. She leans back against the clear barrier — can just about spot the facility through the mask of trees. She leans back, forcing herself to push against the barrier, feeling her spine dig uncomfortably into it.

_Remember,_ she tells herself, eyes fixed on the red bricks across the garden, _you can’t stay here, because this is all there is._

She breathes deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She can’t stay here, she knows that. This world ends right here, with this shield they’ve put up around the facility. This wall she’s leaning against is the only reminder she needs that, as comfortable as she is here, it isn’t Earth. As safe as this feels, her fam aren’t here.

As much as she needs Lora, she needs them too.

_If you stay here, this is all there’ll be._

She doesn’t know how long she stays out there for, watching from the sidelines. Long enough for her back to start aching against the barrier. Not long enough for a member of staff to come out and find her.

As she crosses the garden to the building, reaching the clutter of benches and fountains, she spots Lora, speaking with another patient by the doors to the building. It’s the first time she’s seen him interacting one-on-one with someone that isn’t her. They have circle time every day, of course, but she’d almost assumed that outside of that time, he was hers.

It warms her a little, seeing him speak in that same low, calm voice to someone else, leaning forward on his elbows, gesturing gently. Something inside of her had been anxious to leave because she’d be leaving _him._

_But he has more people,_ she reminds herself, feeling suddenly tearful. _More patients. He’ll be okay._

The patient he’s speaking to heads back inside the building, and Lora starts making his way towards her, like he knew she was standing there the whole time. She blushes.

“Doctor,” he greets her, with a smile.

“Hi, Lora.”

“Shall we have a seat?” He gestures to a nearby bench, and they make their way to it. “I looked for you this morning. I assumed you might want some time alone on your last day.”

The Doctor sighs as she settles down next to him on the bench. “I went out to the perimeter.”

A look of knowing settles on Lora’s face. “To remind yourself there is a perimeter.”

She runs a hand through her hair. “Hm.”

Lora lowers his voice. “It’s okay to want to stay, Doctor.”

“It’s not…” She swallows, starts again. “It’s not that I want to stay, I just… I’m scared to go. Does that make sense?”

To her surprise, he smiles. Leans back on the bench, head tilted to the blue sky. “Life’s full of ambiguity, isn’t it? Perhaps you can be scared to leave but still want to go.” He meets her eyes. “Perhaps you can think that you don’t want to live, but find a way to do so, anyway.”

‘ _It’s not that I want to die, for God’s sake — I just don’t want to live.’_

Her eyes well up. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Sure, you do.” Lora’s voice is soft but firm, as always, and she closes her eyes to stop the tears from falling. “This place is not a place for living, Doctor. We’re a waiting room. This,” he gestures to the garden around them, “is a transient space, a safe space. Your time here has come to an end and now, because of everything you’ve learned about yourself and the world around you, you’re ready to start living again.”

The Doctor opens her eyes, heaves in a shaky sniff. “So, this is it? I just hop into my TARDIS at the end of the day, and I’m off. Back out in the universe again.”

“Yes.” Lora reaches out, places a reassuring hand on her knee. “But you can take care of yourself this time. You have people who love you and who know how to help you. You can recognise warning signs and ask for support when you need it. So much is the same, but so much is different, as well. For the better.”

The Doctor blinks back her tears, swallows thickly.

“Yesterday,” she says, her voice breaking ever so slightly. “When you were alone with Graham and Yaz… what were you talking about?”

Lora tilts his head to the side. “Often in family therapy, the two key relationships I like to look at are the partner and the parent.”

She brushes over the word _partner_ and snorts. “You think Graham is my parent?”

Lora laughs. “I think he often adopts a parental role, despite the significant age difference, Doctor.”

She smirks at that, thinking back to that first day back on Earth, slumped on the pavement outside Yaz’s block of flats. Graham’s spilt milk on the floor behind her, his arms wrapped firmly around her shoulders as he shepherded her home, the word _cockle_ murmured into her ear. “Maybe.”

“And to answer your question, we just had a chat about how they were feeling.” He leans back on the bench again with a knowing smile. “I also gave them my contact details, should you — or they — need help with anything in the future.”

The birds in the trees whistle melodically. That light summer breeze is there again, lifting the curling ends of her hair and making them dance in front of her eyes. She brushes the stray strands back behind her ears and says, quietly, to Lora, “This isn’t the end, then?”

Another chuckle. She turns to meet his smile.

“This is my favourite part of the job,” he says, gently, genuinely. “Seeing patients go from defiant, stubborn, so unpredictable we actually had to restrain her…” She blushes. “… to this. Someone who felt so safe in my care, they’re finding it hard to leave.”

She presses her lips together to stop herself from crying.

“You know, Doctor,” Lora continues, shifting slightly to turn his body toward hers. “You’ll continue to grow. One day, these weeks you’ve spent here with me will just be a moment. An important moment, but a moment nonetheless.”

She swallows, whispers, “I can’t tell you how much this has meant to me, Lora.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Doctor, I can see for myself,” he says, kindly. “And I will say, in return, that your openness and willingness to grow and develop… Well, that has meant an awful lot to me, too.”

They share a smile. A moment. 

She clears her throat, forcing a grin. “Come on, now, stop getting soppy. You don’t have to tell me how much you’ll miss me, I already know.” He laughs at that. “You’ll probably see me again at some point, anyway.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Doctor,” Lora says, meeting her eyes with a smile. “But I bloody well hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes, she's on her way. I can't wait for you all to read the next few chapters... ♡
> 
> I think I've been struggling to write this one for a while because things over here feel kind of tricky and messy and mentally I just wasn't ready to write Recovery stuff because I felt I was doing really badly? Call me a method writer or whatever lol but I find it much easier to write lighthearted stuff when I have very little to stress about, y'know? 
> 
> Anyway, I spoke to my best friend back in Oxford, and I feel loads better. Less alone. This is your reminder, if you need it, to reach out to the people who love you. I thought maybe all of my friends had forgotten about me but it just turns out we're all going through a Mass Trauma and it's ~so okay~ to sometimes prioritise getting through the day above all else. But also, my day feels better after talking to her. She's my fam. And look at me, writing again!
> 
> Life's a rollercoaster, innit?
> 
> I hope you're all doing okay. I'm going back through answering some of your comments today (I'm sorry I've left this so long?? I do honestly appreciate all of you so so much.) Please let me know how you are in the comment section -- I think we all need the social interaction!!♡
> 
> If you're able to donate £3 to the Beth Fund so I can save up and move back to Oxford to be with my fam when lockdown is over, the link is here:
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee
> 
> Sending so much love, hope, and positivity to you all. Storms don't last forever. We'll all be with our loved ones soon. Yours, Beth♡


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor faces her last circle time at the facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in which Beth bases a chapter on a group therapy exercise she was part of once*

Circle time. 

The _last_ circle time.

Feels weird that she’s been doing this twice a day for the last couple of months and she can barely remember most of what was said. Circle time feels a lot like going to get breakfast or walking in the garden. It’s such a mundane part of her days here that she’s almost forgotten to take notice of it.

It feels a bit sad, now, actually. Now that there are just a few hours left, she’s starting to wish she’d paid attention to every single detail, no matter how small. She’s starting to wish she’d banked each breakfast in her mind, kept a diary or something of each time she chose toast over cereal, every mug of tea Grace handed over after reluctantly spooning in mounds of sugar.

She can hold loads of memories in this head, she’s sure of it. But since she found out she’d lost whole chunks of her life, had whole lives worth of memories removed… Well, she’s been a little more precious about the memories she wants to keep.

“For the Doctor’s final circle time,” Lora says, with a pointed glance at the Doctor. “We’ll be doing the envelope exercise. Some of you will have done this exercise before with past patients, but for those who haven’t, allow me to explain.”

Looking around the circle, now, the Doctor feels a rush of shame at how little she knows about her fellow patients. Out of the six or seven people, there are probably only two or three she’s had a conversation with outside of this room. Even then, Annie didn’t really speak to her anymore — not since their failed escape attempt, a memory that still makes her flushed with embarrassment — and Ash didn’t really speak to _anyone._

_Still,_ she thinks, _I should have made more of an effort._

“The envelope I have here,” Lora is saying, holding up a plain brown paper envelope, “is for the Doctor. We’ll all be writing messages of support for her to take with her on the next part of her journey.”

_Oh._

Lora passes scraps of lined paper and heavily-chewed biros (another very specific Earth-ism from the facility) around the circle, and everyone starts to scribble. Everyone. The Doctor finds herself gawping around the circle of plastic chairs, watching these people — these strangers, essentially — have no hesitation in writing kind words about her.

“Doctor,” Lora says, gently, as someone next to her passes her a pen and piece of paper. “Perhaps you could write a short letter to yourself.”

“Sure,” she murmurs, looking down at the blank piece of paper.

_Though, right now, I’m not sure what to say._

Somehow, the Doctor finds the words. Or, at least, the pen does. She watches it move across the paper like it’s independent from her, like she’s watching a hand that isn’t attached to her body, like what she’s thinking and what’s being written are both separate and the same.

Weird.

The only sound is the soft scratching of pen against paper. At some point, she glances up, catches Annie’s eye across the circle. 

They haven’t spoken for weeks. Annie smirks, raises a single eyebrow, then lets her gaze fall back to the paper in her hand. The Doctor’s eyes linger on her for a second after she’s looked away.

When everyone is finished, Lora passes the brown envelope around them all, and everyone slips their handwritten notes inside, the Doctor included. When the envelope eventually lands back in Lora’s lap, he holds it up for them all to see.

“Whenever you need support, or to remember just how much you are valued to others — you can read what’s in here.” Lora stands up, crosses the circle, and hands her the envelope. It’s heavier than she thought it’d be.

“Whenever you need us,” Lora says, quietly, tapping the corner of the envelope, “we’ll be right here.”

After circle time, Lora catches her as everyone is leaving to tell her that her things are in her bedroom. She walks back to the room slowly, envelope firmly clasped between her fingers. She’s suddenly acutely aware of time passing, suddenly oh-so-conscious that the minutes she’ll spend in this place are becoming fewer and fewer with every double-beat of her hearts. Every step she takes is sand through an hourglass.

On her bed, her clothes are folded on the white duvet. Those great baggy, non-sticky trousers, lovely yellow braces, the proudest top she’s ever owned and… 

_The coat._

_Coats are always the best part of any outfit,_ she thinks, reaching out to touch the soft fabric of the hood. _Full of pockets._

_Oh! Pockets!_

She picks up the coat properly, feels along the side of it to the pocket and slipping her hand inside. There it is. 

Her hands close around the sonic, just for a second, before she leaves it there and yanks her hand out of the coat. If she thought the coat was an important part of her identity, the sonic was something else. She’s not quite ready for that part of herself yet. As soon as she’s left this place, she’s sure her hand will itch for the feel of that sonic again. For now, though, she needs to be _this_ person. 

Just for a little while longer.

She closes the door behind her and sheds the white pyjamas. It’s easier than she thought it would be. Of all the things she’s grown attached to, the pyjamas don’t make the cut. She slips her blue trousers on, revelling in the way they float around her mid-calf. They’re looser than they were a couple of months ago, but they still fit fine. Few more custard creams and she’ll be good to go.

Trousers on, T-shirt, lovely yellow braces… She looks down at her limited wardrobe. On second thoughts, she leaves the coat off, for now. It feels too big; not literally, just… metaphorically. She folds the coat along with the clothes she’d bought with Yaz into a small pile.

She slips Graham’s jumper over her head instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I still have my envelope. Every so often I'll dig through boxes to find it and I'll sit and read those lovely notes. Ten girls, nine weeks of group therapy; we barely knew each other, really, but *man* it's so lovely to read through those notes and be like, 'they didn't really know me but they thought I was worthy of love & recovery when I didn't think so myself??'
> 
> Yeah, the Doc will read through her envelope at some point. Probably in the sequel to this fic (this one is nearly over so click *follow user* so you know when I've uploaded the next one!)
> 
> My baby sister turns ten today. She got a 13 sonic screwdriver (she loves Jodie, so much) and we're curled up watching s11 together. I hope your days are all just as cute & serene. Sending loads of love to all of you. Thank you for your lovely comments, your warmth, and your friendship. You are all so so important to me. ♡
> 
> Ko-fi link for those able to buy me a coffee♡: ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♡ The Doctor says her final goodbyes. ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you delve into this one, please click *follow user* so you don't miss out on the next feature-length sequel coming soooon... ♡

“Ah,” says Grace, watching the Doctor slowly approach the tea and coffee counter with a timid smile. “So, it’s that day already, is it?”

The Doctor hums. “Afraid so.”

She pulls herself up onto the chair — the one bought especially for her — for the last time. Grace turns the kettle on with an effortless flick of her hand, makes her way toward the hatch with a sad smile.

“You know, you’d think I’d get used to this,” Grace says, elbows resting on the surface between them, “saying goodbye. Somehow, each one is even harder than the next.”

The Doctor sighs. “I know the feeling.”

_Every companion I’ve had,_ she thinks suddenly, watching the light smile play on Grace’s lips, _every friend I’ve travelled with. I always have to say goodbye._

“Isn’t it sad, working here?” she asks Grace, quietly, watching as the woman spoons sugar into one of the hospital-issued ceramic mugs. “How do you cope with that?”

Grace smiles. “People leave here better for it. The doctors here won’t let any of you go unless they really believe you can take care of yourselves, you know that, don’t you? When I see you lot leave…” She sighs, dreamlike. “…it’s like I’ve seen this… transformation. A rebirth, if you will.”

_There’s this moment, when you’re sure you’re going to die, and then…_

_… You’re born._

_Perhaps there’s more than one way to regenerate._

She meets Grace’s eyes. “You do a really good job here, Grace.”

Grace pours water into the mug with a smile and a shrug. “It’s nice to hear that, sweetie. Now — how are you feeling about your discharge, eh? Saw the family yesterday, didn’t you?”

The mug is passed over. Grace resumes her position, elbows leaning on the counter between them, chin resting in her hands as the Doctor cradles the tea in hers. Steam rises up in soft, dreamy wisps. Behind her, patients clatter with board games, chatting pleasantly amongst one another.

God, the serenity of it all makes her want to _stay_.

“Okay, I guess.” The Doctor clears her throat, gazes down into her tea. “I don’t want to go, but I want to go at the same time.”

Grace nods, understanding. “That tends to be the way.”

She takes a sip of the tea, then says, “I feel better, though. Better than I did a few weeks ago, anyway, I think… Oh, I dunno. I s’pose I just didn’t expect to feel any different, and I do, and I’m just…”

She shrugs pathetically.

“Hopeful?” Grace suggests, raising an eyebrow.

“… _Grateful_.” She watches the corners of Grace’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Grace, I’m _so_ grateful and I don’t know how to express that. It feels weird to just, I dunno, say thank you and then pop off. Y’know? What am I supposed to do now?”

“You’ll be okay,” Grace says, quietly, meeting her eyes. 

Her voice breaks. “How do you know?”

Grace’s smile widens. “Ah, this universe. Nobody knows anything for sure, really, do they? Every persons truth is different from the next. But _I_ know, in here,” she taps her chest, “in my heart of hearts. That’s _my_ truth. You _will_ be okay.”

Tears burn at the Doctor’s eyes. “I’m going to miss you, lovely Grace.”

Grace smiles with glossy eyes. “Nah, you won’t miss me. You’ll be out there living your life, as you should — but I won’t forget about you, Doctor. So if you ever feel alone… Well, you come back here and find me, alright? There’ll always be a cup of tea and company waiting here for you, poppet.”

The Doctor slides a hand across the counter and takes Grace’s fingers in hers. She squeezes Grace’s hand; banks this moment in her memory forever. Then they say goodbye, and she stands up and walks away from that counter, swiping at wet cheeks.

_Some goodbyes are different_ , she promises herself. _Some goodbyes don’t mean forever._

The Doctor wonders, as she’s walking the halls back to her bedroom, whether she should sit outside on her bench for the last time. She turns towards the windows, pausing in her stride — moves to press her fingers against the glass.

A bench that isn’t really a bench, in a garden that isn’t really a garden, on a plant engineered to look like Earth because that’s the one place in the universe she can still feel at home.

_Maybe,_ she thinks, with a soft smile, _the last time I sat there could just be the last time._

She presses her nose to the glass like a child. Like she’s seeing that garden for the first time, not the last.

_Maybe, rather than stay in a place made to look like home…_

_Maybe it’s time to just go_ home _._

She didn’t think it’d feel like this. 

Not when she first arrived, anyway. She expected relief at the sight of that familiar blue box, expected desperation to creep up inside of her, for her fingers to itch for the feel of the console beneath them.

Now, standing here with nothing but a few items of clothing, a brown paper envelope, and her houseplant, Shelley, resting on top of them… Well, now, it feels like this is too small a moment for something so huge.

Not that she was expecting a _parade_ or anything… 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to say goodbye,” she says, feeling stupid, eyes fixed on her blue box — taller, somehow, than she remembered it. “I mean… I know this is your job, Lora, and you probably do this all the time, but for _me,_ I’m…”

“I see you, now, as a friend, Doctor.”

“Oh, thank God, I thought it was just me and I was going to look _proper_ needy.” Despite her smile and the lilt of humour in her voice, her eyes shine with tears. “So. This is it.”

“This is it.”

She turns away from the TARDIS to face him head-on. 

“Y’know,” she hums, a lump in her throat. “I could always throw a couple o’ punches so you have to readmit me for a bit.”

Lora smirks. “You’d be surprised how many patients go for that option.”

She grins through tears. “I don’t think I would be.”

Lora sighs, his eyes crinkling as a calm smile settles on his lips.

“You told me once, in circle time,” Lora says, gently, eyes shining, “that you carry those you care about with you.”

She nods, throat tight. “Yes.”

Lora hums with a small smile. “That’s an admirable quality. One, I trust, you’ll utilise.”

She feels tears on her cheeks but she blinks through them, tries not to let her face crumble under the weight of her sadness. “I won’t forget all you’ve done for me, Lora.”

His eyes glisten. “I don’t doubt that, Doctor.”

There’s a pause, a silence that hangs between both of them, before he adds, “You can drop in anytime, you know. Yaz and Graham have my contact details.”

The Doctor suddenly feels her breath catch in her throat. “Do I?”

_How could I forget?_ Time travel. Such a funny thing. She’s suddenly hit by how naive she’s been to think that everything has happened consecutively for Lora. Everything with River, with her referral, with the conversations her wife had obviously had with Lora — that has all happened in the Doctor’s future, but Lora’s past.

_Of course I come back,_ she thinks, unable to stop the smile creeping onto her lips. _Of course there’s a wobbly moment in my future where I pop back for a chat with Lora._

_Who am I to say that, for him, that moment hasn’t already happened?_

It makes sense in her head, as she’s standing there, watching him with tearful revelation. Perhaps they’ve already met, in Lora’s timeline.

Perhaps that’s how he’s always known exactly what she needs to hear.

There’s a knowing glint in Lora’s eye, a hint of a smirk on his lips, but he says nothing.

She swallows, gathering up the courage, and then she stoops to place Shelley and the folded clothes by her feet, steps over them and pulls Lora into a hug. He’s taken aback, just for a moment, but then he gives her a tight squeeze as well.

She pulls back first, steps away to pick up her things.

Shelley’s spidery leaves tickle her chin as she nods to Lora with a wide smile. “See ya.”

Then she turns, before she can think too much about it, and pushes against the creaking TARDIS door.

_There’s this moment where you’re sure you’re going to die, and then… you’re born._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some goodbyes don't mean forever. And that's the same for us guys!! My biggest anxiety, I think, with finishing this fic, is that I'll lose all of the lovely readers I've come to know and love so well. So, to relieve my anxiety (and to be the first to read the SEQUEL COMING OUT SOON!!) please make sure you're following this user over here so you'll get updates when it happens! Who knows how long the lockdown will last -- I might have to write a few more Who novels before things get back to normal...
> 
> Anyway, your final chapter will be an epilogue, so this isn't even goodbye yet. I'm not doing my emotional thank yous and goodbyes until THEN do you hear me??
> 
> Ahh, I love you all so, so much. 
> 
> Yours, Beth.♡
> 
> As always, if you're able to support me with £3 so I can get my life back on track after this pandemic... the link is here and you have my ETERNAL love and gratitude:♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee


	45. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♡

“Hey there, old girl.” 

_Look who it is._

Her knees almost buckle at the familiarity. She manages a couple of steps forward, putting her pile of belongings down on the floor, before she leans back against one of the columns, closing her eyes with a sigh.

_You’re distressed._

“Relieved,” she murmurs.

_Bit of both, maybe._

She opens her eyes with a smirk. “You’re snappier than you were when I left. Been chatting to River again?”

The engine whirs suspiciously.

“Oh. You have, eh?”

_You look different._

“Nice change of topic, sneaky.” The Doctor pushes back against the column, taking a step towards the console. “What do you think?” 

She holds her arms up by her sides, half-heartedly spinning around in Graham’s jumper. The engines hum gently. _Look at your hair._

She raises a hand to her head, running her fingers through tangled hair. “I know, it’s longer. Yaz’ll fix it, though. She’s good at doing the twisty things. She’s on hair management duty.”

_Let’s go find her, shall we?_

“Yeah. Absolutely. Deffo.”

She reaches the console, finds herself letting her head fall forwards slightly as she leans her arms on the surface in front of her. Her eyelids flutter closed. All around her, there are those familiar hums and whirs, and under her fingertips the whole place seems to ebb and glow. It’s so… normal. So real, being here.

The rush of reality makes her want to cry.

_Maybe we should take a moment first._

“I mean,” she takes a deep, shuddery breath, “if you want to.”

Around her, the ship hums its comforts.

Tears burn at her eyes. “Sorry — I just… It’s just a lot to get used to, you know?”

_I know._ A pause. _You’ve changed._

The Doctor blinks and the tears fall. She breathes in deeply through her nose, feeling her shoulders shake with the effort of it. Her head tilts up towards the time rotor as she says, “Too much? D’ya think I’ve changed too much?”

_Sit down._

“I’m sorry for how I behaved before, I mean — I could’ve left you alone. I was _going_ to, I was just so selfish and now, everything is different. Better, I mean. Or, it should be, but I’m worried I’m going to mess everything up again, and…”

_Doctor._

“M’rambling?”

_Sit down._

She turns and slumps back against the console, sliding down until her knees hit the floor. She bunches the cuffs of Graham’s jumper into her fists, uses the fabric to swipe at the dampness on her cheeks. 

She sighs. “Sorry.”

_For what? Feeling things?_

“I don’t know.”

_Not often I hear you say that._

“Again — I’m going to have to have words with River.”

The Doctor swallows, thickly, and works on steadying her heart rates. She knows this is just fear — of course, she does — and she knows it will pass. Lora is still outside those TARDIS doors if she needs him and, for a moment, she debates running back out and into the safety of that hospital-issued duvet, but she doesn’t. Because as much as Lora is still standing outside that door, he is nestled somewhere comfortably inside her hearts, now, too.

And what would he say to her, if he were here now? 

_Firstly, probably, steady your breathing_. Secondly… She runs her eyes over the console room and lists off five things she can see through the fresh tears blurring her vision. _Telepathic circuits._ Breath. _Door, floor…_ Breath. _Time rotor handbrake, stabilisers…_

_What’s next?_

_Oh. Okay._

_Five things I know to be true._

_My name is the Doctor._ Breath. _I spent a lot of my life on a planet called Gallifrey._ Breath. _I am older than I could have ever imagined._ Breath. _I have a family._ Breath.

_I am loved._

She lets out a shaky sigh. Relief floods through her. Around her, the TARDIS lights glow light tangerine orange, spreading warmth throughout the space.

The TARDIS hums concern beneath her knees.

_Are you okay?_

“Yeah.”

… _Really?_

“Yeah, really. Properly. I think this is just…” She gestures to the console room. “… I’ve just missed this. It’s an adjustment period, right? I’m allowed a few tears?”

_You’re always allowed a few tears._

“I know. Thanks.” She clears her throat, standing up and dusting off her trousers. “Now, though, old girl — time to get to the fam, eh?”

The lights above her sparkle. _They can help._

The Doctor hums an agreement, running a hand over the console. “They can indeed.”

A few flicked switches, some twisting here and there, the pull of a lever and the TARDIS jerks into life.

_Nervous?_

She snorts a laugh. “Terrified.” There’s a pause as she glances to the TARDIS door; feeling the apprehension build in her shoulders and, just as quickly, brushing it off with a grin. “But I’ve done loads of things that scare me recently,” she feels the pride glow within her chest, “and I don’t regret a single one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks. Who'd have thought it, eh?
> 
> A handful of months, fifty seven and a bit thousand words, and a whole load of lockdown later. This journey has come to an end.
> 
> I've really loved sharing this with you all. I've channelled so much of my personal experience into this, and it's been honestly so moving to hear your stories in return. After I was diagnosed with depression and an eating disorder when I was nineteen, I spent the following four years in and out of hospital, always trying and failing at recovery. Last year, after I moved to Oxford, I was forced into treatment.
> 
> Much like the Doctor at the start of this fic, I was stubborn and rebellious and just, well, hurting.
> 
> Luckily, this time around, at the ripe old age of 23, I was saddled with a therapist that just... *got* me. I'm properly gutted that I never got to sit with *my* Lora on a park bench (we were very limited to just the one room), but I can't tell you how dramatically talking to this one person changed everything I knew about myself, my behaviours, my feelings. 
> 
> I was discharged in January of this year (doesn't that feel like a lifetime ago, now?) and then -- lockdown hit.
> 
> I was so scared of being alone and slipping up. I still am -- terrified of relapse because I don't have a therapist anymore to guide me through it. When suddenly there were these huge restrictions on my life and I felt out of control again, I was scared I'd turn to my only known coping mechanisms (and they were shitty ones at that!). Instead, one night, right at the start of lockdown, I read a one-shot by HalfBakedPoet and I was inspired. 
> 
> I started to write: and you all started to listen.
> 
> In this fic, you've read some of my darkest thoughts, some of my most treasured conversations, and some of my purest wishes for recovery. As well as being the Doctor's journey (and a journey that, in my humble opinion, is totally fitting for this poor ass alien lady♡), this has been *our* journey. Writing this has given me purpose and productivity and routine in a time in my life where everything could have easily spiralled out of control.
> 
> Because of this, I'll be writing a sequel that will (most likely) be a series of post-rehab one-shots. I'm not one to drag out a story to the point where everyone is sick of it, and that's why I felt this story had to end here. But if you're looking for an adorable family reunion, PLUS the tying up of some purposely untied loose ends... Well, click *follow user* and I promise not to keep you waiting too long.
> 
> I never thought that I'd be finishing this at a time when we would *still* be in lockdown, but none of us could have predicted 2020 to be such a shit show. I'm so thankful for your love and support in this terrifying time in our lives. I hope through reading this you've been shown some light and love and laughter. I hope you continue to look after yourselves and each other. I hope, so much, for all of us, that everything will turn out alright in the end.
> 
> It's late at night here and the stars are sparkling and there's a lump in my throat, so I'm going to wrap things up by saying thank you. For everything: reading, commenting, picking me up when I needed it the most. The kindness of strangers will always be one of the universes most spectacular gifts. And -- just so you know -- none of us are strangers, anymore. In a weird kinda way... I guess we're family.
> 
> I love you all.
> 
> Yours, always, Beth.♡
> 
> ♡ ko-fi.com/quillsandcoffee ♡


	46. sequel up now

hi angels,

go and check out my fic 'the landing' for all of your 'mercy on me' sequel needs.

love always

beth 

x


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